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GENERAL EDITOR 

WILBUR LUCIUS CROSS 


PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN YALE UNIVERSITY 















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From the portrait bv Sir John Watson Gordon 


SCOTT’S IVANHOE 


EDITED BY 


ALFRED A. MAY 

w 


HEAD OF ENGLISH DEPARTMENT, SHATTUCK SCHOOL, 

FARIBAULT, MINN. 



0 0 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

1911 



Copyright, 1911 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Introduction 

I. Scott’s Life and Works vii 

II. Ivanhoe xvi 

Descriptive Bibliography xxv 

Ivanhoe i 

Notes and Comment 541 

Glossary 569 


Portrait of Sir Walter Scott [Gordon] . . . Frontispiece 

Abbotsford vi 

The Scott Monument at Edinburgh xxviii 

Castle of Ashby 158 

Map of the Ivanhoe Country 540 



Abbotsford 





INTRODUCTION 

i 

SCOTT’S LIFE AND WORKS 

“ Every Scottishman has a pedigree. It is a national 
prerogative, as unalienable as his pride and his poverty. 
My birth was neither distinguished nor sordid. Accord- 
ing to the prejudices of my country, it was esteemed 
gentle, as I was connected, though remotely, with ancient 
families both by my father’s and mother’s side. My 
father’s grandfather was Walter Scott, well known in 
Teviotdale by the surname of Bear die. He was the sec- 
ond son of Walter Scott, first Laird of Raeburn, who 
was third son of Sir William Scott, and the grandson 
of Walter Scott, commonly called in tradition Auld Watt 
of Harden. I am therefore lineally descended from that 
ancient chieftain, whose name I have made to ring in 
many a ditty, and from his fair dame, the Flower of 
Yarrow — no bad genealogy for a Border minstrel. 
Beardie, my great-grandfather aforesaid, derived his cog- 
nomen from a venerable beard, which he wore unblemished 
by razor or scissors, in token of his regret for the ban- 
ished dynasty of Stuart. It would have been well that 
his zeal had stopped there. But he took arms, and in- 
trigued in their cause, until he lost all he had in the 
world, and, as I have heard, ran a narrow risk of be- 
ing hanged, had it not been for the interference of Anne, 
Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth.” 

The strain of wildness and romance, of which Scott 
thus entertainingly speaks in his own sketch of his life, 

vii 


viii Introduction 

grew somewhat calmer in the person of his grandfather, 
and, in his father, was displaced by the honest industry 
of the lawyer. In the veins of the great Romanticist, 
therefore, flowed blood quickened by ancestral love of 
independence and adventure, and held in check by 
discipline and integrity. 

Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. 
From his earliest years he was afflicted with a lameness 
in his right leg. To cure this deformity his parents^ in- 
sisted upon an out-door life for the boy, and (sent him 
to his grandfather’s farm, at Sandy-Knowe. The in- 
vigorating air and enforced exercise of the country mode 
of living made him a sturdy youth of excellent general 
health, but he always remained a cripple. He resided at 
Sandy-Knowe until his eighth year, -j with the exception 
of a year spent at Bath, where the medicinal powers of 
the waters were used to aid his affliction. He learned to 
take long rambles in the country, and here first became 
manifest the love of old traditions and popular ballads 
which determined his future career, j- Returning to Edin- 
burgh, he entered the public school, where he proved 
to be a desultory scholar. In subjects which he liked, 
he occasionally showed streaks of brilliancy ; but his 
education seems to have been gathered chiefly from an 
extraordinarily wide and varied range of general read- 
ing. He gained, however, a fairly good knowledge of 
Latin, French, and Italian, though he contemptuously 
avoided Greek. Notwithstanding his lameness, he was 
prominent in all kinds of boyish sports, and could more 
than hold his own in personal encounters. 

Scott entered college at Edinburgh in 1783. As in 
school, so in college, he studied what he liked, and neg- 
lected all subjects that did not appeal to his taste. In 
this way he probably missed a good deal of healthful 
mental discipline, but acquired that huge store of knowl- 
edge which he put to excellent use in his novels. He 
read Italian and Spanish romances, and spent much time 
poring over old English poetry, often, no doubt, to the 
neglect of the legal studies for which ostensibly he was 


Scott’s Life and Works 


IX 


attending the university. He left at the end of two 
years, and never completed his course.^He thereupon 
became an apprentice in his father’s law office. Here for 
several years his chief duty was copying legal docu- 
ments. Hereby he gained a useful discipline which 
served to hold in check his love for pleasure, and had 
much to do with forming his character. Agreeably to 
his father’s wish, he determined to become a lawyer, and, 
after six years of preparation with his father, was ad- 
mitted to the bar in 1792. His talents did not fit him 
for such a career. He adhered conscientiously to his 
duties, but never rose high in the profession. As his 
business was never large, he improved his spare time in 
the study of German literature, and made some admirable 
translations of Burger, Goethe, and other writers. When 
the French Revolution endangered the peace of Europe, 
Scott became active in an organization of Volunteer 
Cavalry at Edinburgh, the duties of which took up much 
of his time. Withal he continued a member of the bar 
for some fifteen years. 

His training as a lawyer procured for him in 1806 
the appointment of Clerk of the Sessions at Edinburgh. 
After serving several years gratuitously, this position 
brought him £1300 a year. In 1799 he had been made 
Sheriff of Selkirkshire, which office secured him the 
sum of £300 annually for life. He declined the honor 
of being made Poet Laureate in 1813; but accepted a 
baronetcy in 1820. This last honor came in recognition 
of his literary work, and brought with it the title of “ Sir 
Walter.” Though performing faithfully the duties of 
these minor offices, Scott had no political ambitions, and 
never rose high in public life. 

Many writers as an aid in preparation for their pro- 
fession have taken an extensive course in traveling. This 
Scott did not do, obviously because it was a long time be- 
fore he determined upon a literary career. Incidentally, 
however, he did travel, and generally turned his experi- 
ence to good account. His early travels, if so they may 
be called, were his repeated rides and rambles among 


X 


Introduction 


the homely people of the Scottish Border, from whom i 
he gathered the rich store of ballads which he published 
in three volumes in 1802-3, under the title of The Min- j 
strelsy of the Scottish Border. In 1809 he made a jour- j 
ney to the Hebrides, and in 1814 he again visited these j 
islands, extending his tour to Shetland and Orkney. The 
literary fruits of these voyages are the poem The Lord of l 
the Isles, and the novel The Pirate, the scenes of which i 
are wholly or in part laid in these islands. Besides sev- j 
eral trips through romantic and historic parts of England ] 
and to London, Scott made no more extensive journey 
until his last sad voyage, undertaken in 1831, in hope to : 
prolong his life. He visited various points in the Medi- 1 
terranean, and traveled through Italy and Germany, j 
This tour brought him only increasing ill health, and in ' 
1832 he hastened home to die. 

In these details of biography that we have been con- 
sidering, Scott’s experiences differed little from those j 
of many other writers. He received only a desultory i 
education, entered a profession with the hope of estab- 
lishing a career, and finally abandoned this uncongenial ; 
work for the pursuit of authorship. Furthermore, he ! 
turned to some literary use the results of his travels, and 
received recognition for his labors by the gift of public 
office and honor. But there is one experience, one achieve- I 
ment, which makes his life memorable among authors, j 
This is the accumulation of his vast fortune, and the way I 
he lost it. 

It has been estimated that during his lifetime Scott 
earned more than £140,000 by his literary labor alone. 
He had besides a fairly good income from family re- 
sources and the two salaried positions he held. Much of 
this vast sum he expended in purchasing lands along the j 
river Tweed — hundreds of acres — and in building a 
splendid castle, Abbotsford. But he was not wise in 
his expenditures; for often he spent his money before 
he earned it, receiving pay for novels and poems before I 
they were written. Furthermore, he had formed some j 
very imprudent business relations. He was a partner in 


XI 


Scott’s Life and Works 

two concerns — the printing house of John Ballantyne 
and Company, and the publishing firm of James Ballan- 
tyne and Company. The affairs of both these firms were 
loosely managed, and Scott was called upon to pay many 
losses. Then, too, the firms became involved in such a 
way with the house of Constable, the great London pub- 
lisher, that when the latter failed, during a business de- 
pression in 1826, the Ballantynes fell in the crash. 
Scott found himself personally liable for a debt of £117,- 
000. He might have taken advantage of the bankruptcy 
law, which would have allowed him to settle all claims 
by paying a certain percentage of every pound, but he 
nobly obliged himself to pay in full. He immediately 
set about to earn this enormous sum by his pen. For 
six years he toiled manfully, amidst increasing ill health 
accompanied by paralytic seizures, until at last the strain 
proved too great. While traveling on the Continent in 
search of health he succumbed to the last fatal attack, 
and lived only long enough to be conveyed back to his 
home at Abbotsford, dying there September 21, 1832. 
He had paid off much more than half his indebtedness 
before the end came. In a few years more every obli- 
gation was settled from his life-insurance and the sale of 
his copyrights. 

Before leaving the man to speak of his works, let us 
take a glance at his personal appearance and character. 
The two following descriptions will give an idea of how 
Scott appeared to his fellow men. The first is from Lock- 
hart’s Life of Sir Walter Scott, and tells how he looked 
as a young man at twenty, soon after his call to the bar: 

“ He had outgrown the sallowness of early ill-health, 
and had a fresh brilliant complexion. His eyes were 
clear, open, and well set, with a changeful radiance, to 
which teeth of the most perfect regularity and whiteness 
lent their assistance, while the noble expanse and eleva- 
tion of the brow gave to the whole aspect a dignity far 
above the charm of mere features. His smile was always 
delightful; and I can easily fancy the peculiar inter- 
mixture of tenderness and gravity, with playful innocent 


Introduction 


xii 

hilarity and humor in the expression, as being well cal- 
culated to fix a fair lady’s eye. His figure, excepting the 
blemish in one limb, must in those days have been emi- 
nently handsome; tall, much above the usual standard, 
it was cast in the very mold of a young Hercules; the 
head set on with singular grace, the throat and chest 
after the truest model of the antique, the hands deli- 
cately finished; the whole outline that of extraordinary 
vigor, without as yet a touch of clumsiness. When he 
had acquired a little facility of manner, his conversation 
must have been such as could have dispensed with any 
exterior advantages, and certainly brought swift for- 
giveness for the one unkindness of Nature. I have 
heard him, in talking of this part of his life, say, with 
arch simplicity of look and tone, which those who were 
familiar with him can fill in for themselves — ‘ It was a 
proud night for me when I first found that a pretty 
woman could think it worth her while to sit and talk 
with me, hour after hour, in a corner of a ballroom, 
while all the world was capering in our view.’ ” 

In 1817, Washington Irving visited Scott in his home 
at Abbotsford. He thus pictures his first sight of the 
great novelist: 

“ I knew him at once by the likenesses that had been 
published of him. He came limping up the gravel walk, 
aiding himself by a stout walking-staff, but moving rap- 
idly and with vigor. By his side jogged along a large 
iron-gray staghound, of most grave demeanor, who took 
no part in the clamor of the canine rabble, but seemed 
to consider himself bound, for the dignity of the house, 
to give me a courteous reception. Before Scott reached 
the gate, he called in a hearty tone, welcoming me to 
Abbotsford. . . . Arrived at the door of the chaise, 
he grasped me warmly by the hand : ‘ Come, drive down, 
drive down to the house/ said he, ‘ye’re just in time 
for breakfast, and afterwards ye shall see all the won- 
ders of the Abbey.’ ” 

As to his character, the soul of the man which made 
such a hearty manner possible, Lockhart has this to say: 


Scott’s Life and Works xiii 

“ I presume it will be allowed that no human char- 
acter, which we have the opportunity of studying with 
equal minuteness, had fewer faults mixed up in its 

I texture. The grand virtue of fortitude, the basis of all 
others, was never displayed in higher perfection than in 
him; and it was, as perhaps true courage always is, 
combined with an equally admirable spirit of kindness 
and humanity. His pride, if we must call it so, undebased 
by the least tincture of mere vanity, was intertwined 
with a most exquisite charity, and was not inconsistent 
with true humility. If ever the principle of kindliness 
was incarnated in a mere man, it was in him; and real 
kindliness can never be but modest. In the social rela- 
tions of life, where men are most effectually tried, no 
spot can be detected in him. He was a patient, dutiful, 
reverent son ; a generous, compassionate, tender husband ; 
an honest, careful, and most affectionate father. Never 
was there a more virtuous or a happier fireside than his. 
The influence of his mighty genius shadowed it imper- 
ceptibly; his calm good sense, and his angelic sweet- 
ness of heart and temper, regulated and softened a strict 
but paternal discipline. His children, as they grew up, 
understood by degrees the high privilege of their birth; 
but the profoundest sense of his greatness never dis- 
turbed their confidence in his goodness. The buoyant 
play of his spirits made him sit young among the young; 
parent and son seemed to live in brotherhood together ; 
and the chivalry of his imagination threw a certain air 
of courteous gallantry into his relations with his daugh- 
ters, which gave a very peculiar grace to the fondness 
of their intercourse. Though there could not be a gentler 
mother than Lady Scott, on those delicate occasions most 
interesting to young ladies, they always made their 
father the first confidant.” 

Scott did an almost incredible amount of literary 
labor. His early translations of Burger and Goethe have 
already been mentioned, as has also his collection of 
ballads called The Minstrelsy of the Scottish. Border. 
These were followed in 1805 by a great original poem, 


XIV 


Introduction 


The Lay of the Last Minstrel. This is a romantic tale 
in verse, which immediately sprang into immense popu- 
larity. In 1808 and 1810 appeared Marmion and The 
Lady of the Lake. These also, especially the latter, were 
warmly received, and are still read with great interest. 
They abound in stirring incident and striking descrip- 
tions of Scottish and English scenery. Within a few 
years he published other metrical tales, but the three 
already mentioned are the ones which have retained 
largest share of popular favor. While he was writing 
these poems, Scott was also engaged in editing the works 
of Dryden and others, as well as in composing many arti- 
cles for the reviews. The vogue for this kind of story in 
verse could not, of course, endure forever. The passion- 
ate poetry of Lord Byron soon engrossed the attention 
of readers, and Scott, admitting wisely and without jeal- 
ousy that Byron was a greater poet, soon abandoned 
verse for prose narratives. In this field he became 
greater as a novelist than his rival was as a poet. The 
success of his first novel, Waverley (1814) was truly 
startling. The work was published anonymously, and the 
author’s identity was kept a secret for many years, 
though there followed in rapid succession many other 
romances of the “ Waverley series.” The first nine of 
these, published during the years 1814-1819, dealt alto- 
gether with Scottish characters and manners. The best 
of them are Guy Mannering (1815), Old Mortality 
(1816), Rob Roy (1818), and The Heart of Mid- 
lothian (1818). In Ivanhoe (1819), Scott tried his hand 
at English scenes and English characters, and with this 
book reached probably the height of his popularity with 
English readers. Two other very interesting novels with 
English setting are Kenilworth (1821), and Wood- 
stock (1826). The Talisman (1825) takes up again 
the adventures of King Richard, the popular hero 
of Ivanhoe , and shows him in his romantic wars with 
Saladin in Palestine. Quentin Durward (1823) is a 
stirring tale of the adventures of a Scottish youth in 


XV 


Scott’s Life and Works 

France. Besides these novels and many more of almost 
equal interest, Scott found time to write Tales of a 
Grandfather, which present history to young people in 
an attractive way. Other works which may be men- 
tioned here are a Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, and Let- 
ters on Demonology and Witchcraft. 

In thirty years of literary activity Scott published nine 
long narrative poems and many shorter ones, about 
thirty novels, several volumes of history, several of bi- 
ography; and did an enormous amount of editing of 
other writers’ works, besides contributing copiously to 
the periodicals of the day. Very few writers have done 
so much. 

To accomplish this great work, Scott wrote with 
amazing rapidity. Two-thirds of Waverley, his first 
novel, was composed in three weeks; in his latter years 
his daily stint was the equivalent of thirty printed pages. 
He rarely read over his manuscript before sending it 
to the printer. These facts account for many of the good 
and bad points in his style. He himself says, “ I am 
sensible that if there be any good about my poetry, or 
prose either, it is a hurried frankness of composition 
which pleases soldiers, sailors, and young people of bold 
and active dispositions.” All persons are charmed with 
a narrative that seeks to tell a story and do nothing 
else. In Scott we never suspend our interest in the tale 
while we admire or wonder at some felicitous phrase or 
some ingenious turn of expression; we always are en- 
chanted with the sense, never dazzled by the words. 
Hence Scott is, and long will be, preeminently the story- 
teller. But this rapidity of composition also is respon- 
sible for the many inaccuracies of sentence-structure 
and diction which critics discover in his pages. We 
readily pardon these; indeed, unless we pause to study 
the style, we hardly notice them, as there is so much to 
please us in the novels. Aside from the rapidity of his 
writing, it is his own personality which forms his style. 
The man’s character, such as it is portrayed by Lockhart, 


XVI 


Introduction 


pervades his work. The frank, honest, genial nature of 
the man breathes through his pages and endows them 
with a perennial charm. 

For several reasons, Scott is one of the very greatest 
writers of fiction. For one thing, he is the creator of 
the historical novel. There were many attempts before 
him to unite romance and history in a pleasing story, 
but until Waverley appeared it had never been suc- 
cessfully accomplished. In the hundred years since this 
book was published “ historical fiction ” has always 
been popular; and there have been several periods in 
which nothing else has had much vogue. Again, Scott 
is great because of the large number of his books, and 
the even, high average of their merit. Some writers 
have written a few good novels and many worthless ones ; 
Scott’s are nearly all great. Furthermore, few novel- 
ists since his time have succeeded so well as Scott in 
revivifying the past. If his pictures of by-gone days 
are not always historically accurate, they are always 
graphic; they always leave a distinct and unified im- 
pression. For these reasons, his influence on other 
writers is incalculable. Many a novelist has learned his 
art from Scott, consciously or unconsciously. Un- 
doubtedly it is his influence that has created a taste for 
books like Westward Ho!, Henry Esmond, and even 
Richard Carvel. 

II 

IVANHOE 

Ivanhoe was published in December, 1819. As the 
nine novels which preceded this all dealt with people 
and scenes of Scotland, Sir Walter began to fear that 
the public would become surfeited. Accordingly in 
Ivanhoe he used an English setting. As a result, new 
interest was aroused in his work. Lockhart says, 
“ Ivanhoe was received throughout England with a 
more clamorous delight than any of the Scotch novels 


Ivanhoe 


xvu 


had been.” From the moment of its publication it was 
tremendously popular; with it Scott reached the highest 
point of his fame. It is not his greatest novel; but prob- 
ably no other work of his has as strong a hold on public 
favor. Critics find fault with its style and structure, 
but everybody knows it as an entrancing story. It 
has been translated into nearly every cultivated language. 
It has been made the basis of many plays and melo- 
dramas, and of at least seven operas. 

Besides the change from Scottish to English scene and 
character, Scott contemplated still another change for 
the mystification of his readers. All of the nine preced- 
ing novels were published anonymously, “ by the Author 
of Waverley” appearing on the title-page of all after the 
first. The secret of authorship was guarded well, though 
it was shared by about twenty of Scott’s personal friends. 
The author was spoken of as “ The Great Unknown,” or 
“ The Wizard of the North.” The curiosity aroused by 
the mystery undoubtedly helped to make the novels 
famous. Scott now thought that new interest would be 
inspired by the appearance of another novel of unknown 
authorship, which people would recognize as being of the 
same level as the Waverley series. Hence he adopted 
the pseudonym of “ Laurence Templeton,” and wrote a 
Dedicatory Epistle, in which the supposed author of 
Ivanhoe addresses a fictitious “ Rev. Dr. Dryasdust, 
F. A. S.” In this dedication, the source of the novel is 
said to be a manuscript in the possession of Sir Arthur 
Wardour, which as a compliment to the owner is spoken 
of as Gbe WlarDour /Iftanuscdpt. As Sir Arthur 
Wardour is a character in Scott’s novel The Antiquary , 
published in 1816, it will be seen that the author did not 
have courage to sever Ivanhoe completely from the 
Waverley series. But at the last moment the publishers 
dissuaded him from this artifice, though the Dedicatory 
Epistle, many notes signed “ L. T.,” or “ Laurence Tem- 
pleton,” and allusions to the Wardour Manuscript were 
retained. 

As an illustration of the way in which an author 


xviii Introduction 

gathers his material, it may be interesting to note what 
Scott says in his introduction to Ivanhoe. The sug- 
gestion for using the conflict between the two races as 
the motive power for the plot came from seeing the 
Saxon and Norman barons opposed to each other on 
different sides of the stage in a mediocre tragedy called 
Runnamede. The incident of the meeting of King 
Richard with Friar Tuck in the hermit’s cell was bor- 
rowed from an old ballad-romance which recounted a 
similar adventure of Edward IV. The name Ivanhoe 
occurs in an old rime recording three names of the 
manors forfeited by a nobleman named Hampden for strik- 
ing the Black Prince a blow with his racket, when they 
quarreled at tennis: 

“Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe, 

For the striking of a blow, 

Hampden did forego. 

And glad he could escape so.” 

Scott thought this a good title because, “ first, it had 
an ancient English sound, and, secondly, it conveyed no 
indication whatever of the nature of the story.” Lastly, 
a roll of Norman warriors occurring in an ancient manu- 
script gave him the “ formidable name of Front-de-Bceuf.” 

Lockhart, whose book is full of interesting anecdotes, 
has many details concerning the composition of Ivan- 
hoe. During several periods of his life Scott suffered 
from severe cramps in the stomach. In the spring of 
1819 he was most sorely tormented with this affliction. 
He did not, however, let his physical pains affect the 
clearness of his thinking. As he could not write himself, 
he dictated. Lockhart writes thus entertainingly of the' 
process : 

“ The copy (as MS. for the press is technically 
called) which Scott was thus dictating, was that of The 
Bride of Lammermoor ; and his amanuenses were 
William Laidlaw and John Ballantyne; of whom he pre- 
ferred the latter, when he could be at Abbotsford, on ac- 
count of the superior rapidity of his pen; and also be- 


Ivanhoe 


xix 


cause John kept his pen to the paper without interruption, 
and, though with many an arch twinkle in his eyes, and 
now and then an audible smack of his lips, had resolution 
to work on like a well-trained clerk; whereas good Laid- 
law entered with such keen zest into the interest of the 
story as it flowed from the author’s lips, that he could not 
suppress exclamations of surprise and delight — ‘ Gude 
keep us a’ ! — the like o’ that ! — oh, sirs ! oh, sirs ! ’ — 
and so forth, which did not promote despatch. I have 
often, however, in the sequel, heard both these secretaries 
describe the astonishment with which they were equally 
affected when Scott began this experiment. The af- 
fectionate Laidlaw beseeching him to stop dictating when 
his audible suffering filled every pause, 4 Nay, Willie/ 
he answered, ‘ only see that the doors are fast. I would 
fain keep all the cry as all the wool to ourselves; but 
as to giving over work, that can be only when I am 
in woollen.’ John Ballantyne told me that after the 
first day he always took care to have a dozen pens made 
before he seated himself opposite to the sofa on which 
Scott lay, and that, though he often turned himself upon 
the pillow with a groan of torment, he usually continued 
the sentence in the same breath. But when dialogue of 
peculiar animation was in progress, spirit seemed to 
triumph altogether over matter — he arose from the couch, 
and walked up and down the room, raising and lowering 
his voice, and as it were acting the parts. It was in 
this fashion that Scott produced the far greater portion 
of The Bride of Lammermoor — the whole of A Legend 
of Montrose — and almost the whole of Ivanhoe.” 

In the study of any novel, there are three elements to 
be considered — the setting, the plot, and the characters. 
It will be well to discuss each of these here for a few 
moments. 

The setting of a story is the time and place in which 
the events are supposed to have occurred. The setting 
of Ivanhoe is England in the twelfth century; more 
exactly, Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Leicestershire, 
in the year 1194. The political situation of the country, 


XX 


Introduction 


upon which the main threads of the story depend, is this : I 
In 1066, the Anglo-Saxons, as the inhabitants of Eng- 3 
land at that time used to be called, were conquered by 
William of Normandy, an invader from France. The i 
Conqueror brought over with him many Norman nobles : 
and soldiers, to whom he gave the lands and castles of • 
the subdued Saxons. Naturally there was bitter enmity 
between the ruling Normans and the conquered people, : 
who became practically serfs. Yet there remained a rem- \ 
nant of the ancient Saxon nobility, and hope had not 
quite died out that they might yet unite and throw off 
the foreign yoke. Scott, then, represents this struggle 
as in process at the time the story opens. Furthermore, j 
he makes use of the state of affairs regarding the Eng- 
lish throne. King Richard, “ the Lion-hearted,” as he • 
was called, began to reign in 1189. But within a year he 
joined the Third Crusade, and fought to recapture Jeru- ; 
salem from the Turks. On the way home from this ad- 
venture, he was made prisoner, for political reasons, by 
the Emperor of Germany. At the time our story opens, ; 
there is a rumor in England that Richard #ias escaped 
and is on his way back to resume the throne. While 
he has been absent, his brother, Prince John, has as- 
sumed royal authority, gained a large following of Nor- 
man nobles, and is planning to get rid of Richard and 
take the throne himself. 

Now Ivanhoe is not, and does not pretend to be, ac- 
curate history. For instance, the struggle between Saxon 
and Norman was practically settled, by intermarriage \ 
and otherwise, some time before the year of the story, | 
1194. There are also several minor anachronisms: John’s 1 
ancestors and relatives are slightly confused, and Cedric’s ; 
father (see chapter xxi) could never have attended a 
banquet given in honor of Harold, who had been killed 
by William the Conqueror nearly one hundred and thirty 
years before the story opens. But in the main the picture 
given of the times is fairly correct, and no great violence 
is done to historic fact. 

What we have just discussed may be called the his- 


Ivanhoe 


xxi 


torical setting; the place where the events occurred may 
be called the local setting. The place chosen for the 
romantic incidents of the tale is chiefly the Forest of 
Sherwood, the home of Robin Hood and his merry out- 
laws. Legend and ballad tell of many a glorious deed 
done here “ under the green-wood tree.” This in me- 
dieval times was almost enchanted ground, where marvels 
might appear at any moment, and adventure was ever 
waiting. The first words of Ivanhoe strike the key- 
note of romance : “ In that pleasant district of merry 

England which is watered by the river Don, there ex- 
tended in ancient times a large forest.” 

In t he plot of Ivanhoe, there are really three dis- 
tinct stories. The central interest is of course in the 
adventures \oi Ivanhoe and his love for Rowena^j then 
there is a larger action which surrounds and includes this 
tale, namely, -(the conspiracy of John and the affairs of 
Richard^ which may be called “ the enveloping action ” ; 
lastly, the attempts of the Templar to gain possession of 
Rebecca form a sort of underplot. It is in vain that 
cold-blooded critics cry out that these stories are too 
loosely knit together, and that, in plot-construction, 
Ivanhoe is not a work of art; for we are so enthralled 
by the breathless movement of the incidents, that we 
scoff at such fastidious fault-finding. If our interest is 
centered now in Wilfred, but soon is drawn off to thrill 
at the feats of the Black Sluggard, or mourn at the 
sorrows of Rebecca, we do not lay down the book to 
protest that this exchange is unfair, and clamor for the 
rightful hero to be brought back. Our excitement is 
kept constantly awake, and that, after all, is what we 
chiefly require of a story. 

The events, it will be noticed, group themselves about 
^hree centers: the lists at Ashby, the siege of Torquil- 
"stone, and the trial of Rebecca at Templestowe. The 
adventures at each of these places are sufficiently varied 
and stirring to form a novel in themselves. Surely Scott 
is prodigal of his entertainment. We are amazed at his 
wonderful, inexhaustible power of invention. It is this 


XXI 1 


Introduction 


torrent of incident, ever changing, never failing, that has 
made Ivanhoe for once and always a general favorite. 

Though we readily overlook the faults against the 
artistic ordering of the plot, we sometimes find it hard to 
forgive the author for his seemingly shabby treatment 
of Rebecca. The noble Jewess so grips our hearts that 
we almost want her to be the bride in Rowena’s place. 
Scott received many protests against this arrangement; 
but, after all, was he not right? His best defense is con- 
tained in his own words, written in 1830: 

“The character of the fair Jewess found so much favor 
in the eyes of some fair readers, that the writer was cen- 
sured, because, when arranging the fates of the char- 
acters of the drama, he had not assigned the hand of 
Wilfred to Rebecca, rather than to the less interesting 
Rowena. But, not to mention that the prejudices of 
the age rendered such an union almost impossible, the 
author may, in passing, observe, that he thinks a char- 
acter of a highly virtuous and lofty stamp is degraded 
rather than exalted by an attempt to reward virtue with 
temporal prosperity. Such is not the recompense which 
Providence has deemed worthy of suffering merit; and 
it is a dangerous and fatal doctrine to teach young per- 
sons, the most common readers of romance, that rectitude 
of conduct and of principle are either naturally allied 
with, or adequately rewarded by, the gratification of our 
passions or attainment of our wishes. In a word, if a 
virtuous and self-denied character is dismissed with tem- 
poral wealth, greatness, rank, or the indulgence of such 
a rashly-formed or ill-assorted passion as that of 
Rebecca for Ivanhoe, the reader will be apt to say, verily, 
Virtue has had its reward. But a glance on the great 
picture of life will show that the duties of self-denial, 
and the sacrifice of passion to principle, are seldom thus 
remunerated; and that the internal consciousness of their 
high-minded discharge of duty produces on their own re- 
flections a more adequate recompense, in the form of 
that peace which the world cannot give or take away/’ 

“In Ivanhoe, there is no attempt at subtle analysis of 


Ivanhoe xxiii 

character. But a great variety of persons throng its 
pages. All classes of the society of the times are repre- 
sented by strongly marked types. The Saxons are por- 
trayed in their serfdom and their lingering nobility, and 
the Normans in their pride and tyranny. The Church 
furnishes its quota of characters: the pleasure-loving 
Prior of Jorvaulx and the austere Grand Master of the 
Templars at one extreme, the Clerk of Copmanhurst at 
the other. Wilfred and Richard are types of the chival- 
rous knight; De Bracy of the gallant, reckless adventurer; 
Bois-Guilbert, of the dissolute Templar and Crusader; 
Front-de-Boeuf, of the cruel marauding baron; Isaac, of 
the despised and persecuted Jews; Wamba, of the privi- 
leged jester; Gurth, of the lowliest of servants. It is 
a great pageant of society — all are there from the serf 
up to the king himself. 

And how interesting some of these characters are ! 
Cedric, rough and stern, is far from being a lovable man ; 
yet we like him for his uncompromising hatred of the 
Normans. Robin Hood, least criminal of outlaws, — 
where is the boy who has not loved this hero of the 
forest? In Richard we have the embodiment of English 
patriotism and romance; a kingly figure, equally at home, 
drinking and singing in the hermit’s cell, wielding the 
battle-ax that brings death with every stroke, or passing 
death-doom on the heads of traitors. 

But best of all is Rebecca. This noble, self-sacrificing 
woman is perhaps the strongest of Scott’s heroines. How 
far she outshines the fair Rowena ! Rarely have the char- 
acters of two good and beautiful women been brought 
into more striking contrast than in the scenes at Torquil- 
stone when Rowena and Rebecca are made to face their 
captors. The unyielding strength of the Jewess com- 
pletely eclipses the gentler charms of the. Saxon. Both 
in this scene and at the trial at Templestowe Rebecca has 
our greatest sympathy and admiration. 

It is interesting to know that the original of this char- 
acter was an American Jewess named Rebecca Gratz, 
and that her story was made known to Scott by Washing- 


XXIV 


Introduction 


ton Irving at the time of his visit to Abbotsford in 1817. 
A writer in the Century Magazine (September, 1882) 
thus describes Miss Gratz: 

“ Rebecca was born on the 4th day of March, 1781, and 
in her younger days, and even beyond middle life she 
possessed singular beauty. Her eyes were of exquisite 
shape, large, black, and lustrous; her figure was graceful, 
and her carriage was marked by quiet dignity — attractions 
which were heightened by elegant and winning manners. 
Gentle, benevolent, with instinctive refinement and innate 
purity, she inspired affection among all who met her; 
and having received the best instruction that the time 
and country afforded, she was well fitted for practical 
and social duties. . . . 

“ It is said that, when a young lady, Rebecca won the 
regard of a gentleman of character, position, and wealth, 
whose passion was devotedly returned. The difference 
in their religious faith, however, — the one a conscien- 
tious Christian, the other devoted to the ancient creed 
of Israel, — proved an insuperable barrier to their union. 
She was never married. Accustomed to the society of 
Christians, loving them and beloved by them, the attach- 
ment to her ancestral faith is rendered more conspicuous, 
and her firmness in the strife between inclination and 
duty may be considered an index of the exalted char- 
acter of the woman. Self-denial and lofty conscientious- 
ness distinguished her life, which was one long chain 
of golden deeds/’ 

Scott sent the first copy of the book to Irving with a 
letter, in which he asked, “ How do you like your Re- 
becca? Does the Rebecca I have pictured compare well 
with the pattern given ? ” 


DESCRIPTIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY 


The best biography of Scott is the monumental work 
by his son-in-law, J. G. Lockhart: Memoirs of the Life 
of Sir Walter Scott. This, one of the two or three best 
biographies ever written, was first published in five 
volumes (London, 1839), and has appeared in many 
other editions. An abridgment by the author in one 
volume can be had in Everyman’s Library (Dutton, New 
York). A good short biography is by R. H. Hutton 
(English Men of Letters, the Macmillan Company, New 
York). The Journal of Sir Walter Scott, published by 
Harper and Brothers, 1900, will also prove interesting. 
All pupils, of course, should read Washington Irving’s 
Abbotsford, which gives an interesting account of a visit 
to Scott’s home. 

For the history of the period, a valuable book is Kate 
Norgate’s England Under the Angevin Kings. The -ac- 
count in Green’s Short History of the English People 
(American Book Company) will be helpful. Freeman’s 
Norman Conquest may be consulted by those desiring a 
more careful study of the historical setting. Traill’s 
Social England gives many details of manners and cos- 
tumes. For ballads about Robin Hood and life in Sher- 
wood Forest, see Vol. v of F. J. Child’s English and Scot- 
tish Ballads, published in Boston, 1882-98. 

Scott wrote or edited more than eighty books, com- 
posed half as many magazine essays and reviews, be- 
sides many ballads and songs. The following list con- 
tains the titles of the more important of these, with a 
brief note on their contents: 

1802-3. Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 

Ballads and legends current among the people, 
gathered by traveling in the region, 
xxv 


XXVI 


Descriptive Bibliography 

1805. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

Legends of Border warfare told in verse. 

1808. Marmion. 

A poem on the Battle of Flodden Field, 1513. 

1810. The Lady of the Lake. 

A romantic story in verse of the time of James V 
of Scotland. 

1814. Waverley. 

The period of the Young Pretender’s attempt in 

1745. 

1815. Guy Mannering. 

Meg Merrilies, the witch, is one of the characters. 

1816. The Antiquary. 

Introducing Jonathan Oldbuck. 

Old Mortality. 

The Scotch Covenanters, and their rebellion of 1679. 

1818. Rob Roy. 

The adventures of a famous Scotch outlaw. 

The Heart of Midlothian 

The beautiful story of Jeanie Deans, Scott’s most 
lovable heroine. 

1819. The Bride of Lammermoor. 

The most tragical of the Waverley novels. 

Ivanhoe. 

1820. The Monastery. 

The Abbot. 

The deposition and imprisonment of the beautiful 
and unfortunate, Mary, Queen of Scots, forms the 
plot of these novels. 

1821. Kenilworth. 

A delightful story of Queen Elizabeth, and her re- 
ception by the Earl of Leicester at his castle. 

1823. Quentin Durward. 

A stirring tale of the adventures of a Scottish lad 
in France, in 1468. 

1825. The Betrothed. 

The Talisman. 

Tales of the Crusaders; the latter shows Richard, 
the Lion-hearted, in his war with Saladin. 

1826. Woodstock. 

A story of the Civil War and the Commonwealth. 
The young Charles II is one of the characters. 


Descriptive Bibliography xxvii 

1827. Life of Napoleon Bonaparte. 

A popular history in nine volumes. 

Tales of a Grandfather, First Series. 

Scotch history written entertainingly for young 
people. 

1828. Tales of a Grandfather , Second Series. 

1829. Tales of a Grandfather, Third Series. 

1829-33. Waverley Novels, with New Introductions and 
Notes. 

The author’s final revision of the novels ; the in- 
troductions contain much interesting information 
about the circumstances in which the books were 
written, Scott’s theories of his art, etc. 

1830. Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft. 

Tells anecdotes of witches, and weighs the evi- 
dence as to their truth. 

Tales of a Grandfather, Fourth Series. 

Dealing with French history. 



The Scott Monument at Edinburgh 




IVANHOE 


CHAPTER I 

Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome 
The full-fed swine return’d with evening home, 
Compell’d, reluctant, to the several sties, 

With din obstreperous and ungrateful cries. 

Pope’s Odyssey. 

In that pleasant district of merry England which is wa- 
tered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times 
a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful 
hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the 
pleasant town of Doncaster. The remains of this ex- 
tensive wood are still to be seen at the noble seats of 
Wentworth, of Wharncliffe Park, and around Rother- 
ham. Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of 
Wantley; here were fought many of the most desperate 
battles during the Civil Wars of the Roses ; and here also 
flourished in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws 
whose deeds have been rendered so popular in English 
song. 

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story 
refers to a period towards the end of the reign of Rich- 
ard I., when his return from his long captivity had be- 
come an event rather wished than hoped for by his 
despairing subjects, who w r ere in the meantime subjected 
to every species of subordinate oppression. The nobles, 
whose power had become exorbitant during the reign of 
Stephen, and whom the prudence of Henry the Second 
had scarce reduced into some degree of subjection to 

i 


5 

10 

15 

20 


2 


Ivanhoe 


the crown, had now resumed their ancient license in its 
utmost extent; despising the feeble interference of the 
English Council of State, fortifying their castles, increas- 
ing the number of their dependants, reducing all around 
5 them to a state of vassalage, and striving by every means 
in their power to place themselves each at the head of 
such forces as might enable him to make a figure in the 
national convulsions which appeared to be impending. 

The situation of the inferior gentry, or franklins, as 
10 they were called, who, by the law and spirit of the Eng- 
lish constitution, were entitled to hold themselves inde- 
pendent of feudal tryanny, became now unusually pre- 
carious. If, as was most generally the case, they placed 
themselves under the protection of any of the petty kings 
15 in their vicinity, accepted of feudal offices in his house- 
hold, or bound themselves, by mutual treaties of alliance 
and protection, to support him in his enterprises, they 
might indeed purchase temporary repose; but it must be 
with the sacrifice of that independence which was so 
20 dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard 
of being involved as a party in whatever rash expedition 
the ambition of their protector might lead him to under- 
take. On the other hand, such and so multiplied were 
the means of vexation and oppression possessed by the 
25 great barons, that they never wanted the pretext, and 
seldom the will, to harass and pursue, even to the very 
edge of destruction, any of their less powerful neighbors 
who attempted to separate themselves from their au- 
thority, and to trust for their protection, during the 
30 dangers of the times, to their own inoffensive conduct 
and to the laws of the land. 

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the 
tyranny of the nobility and the sufferings of the inferior 
classes arose from the consequences of the Conquest by 
35 Duke William of Normandy. Four generations had not 
sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans and 
Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language and 
mutual interests, two hostile races, one of which still 
felt the elation of triumph, while the other groaned un- 


Ivanhoe 


3 

der all the consequences of defeat. The power had been 
completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility 
| by the event of the battle of Hastings, and it had been 
I used, as our histories assure us, with no moderate hand. 

The whole race of Saxon princes and nobles had been 
I extirpated or disinherited, with few or no exceptions; 
nor were the numbers great who possessed land in the 
country of their fathers, even as proprietors of the 
second or of yet inferior classes. The royal policy had 
long been to weaken, by every means, legal or illegal, 
the strength of a part of the population which was justly 
! considered as nourishing the most inveterate antipathy 
to their victor. All the monarchs of the Norman race 
had shown the most marked predilection for their Nor- 
man subjects; the laws of the chase, and many others, 
equally unknown to the milder and more free spirit of 
the Saxon constitution, had been fixed upon the necks 
of the subjugated inhabitants, to add weight, as it were, 
to the feudal chains with which they were loaded. At 
• court, and in the castles of the great nobles, where the 
i pomp and state of a court was emulated, Norman-French 
; was the only language employed ; in courts of law, the 
pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same 
i tongue. In short, French was the language of honor, 
of. chivalry, and even of justice, while the far more 
i manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to 
the use of rustics and hinds, who knew no other. Still, 
however, the necessary intercourse between the lords of 
the soil, and those oppressed inferior beings by whom 
that soil was cultivated, occasioned the gradual formation 
of a dialect, compounded betwixt the French and the 
Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render themselves 
mutually intelligible to each other; and from this neces- 
sity arose by degrees the structure of our present Eng- 
lish language, in which the speech of the victors and 
the vanquished have been so happily blended together; 
and which has since been so richly improved by importa- 
tions from the classical languages, and from those spoken 
by the southern nations of Europe. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


4 


Ivanhoe 


This state of things I have thought it necessary to 
premise for the information of the general reader, who 
might be apt to forget that, although no great historical 
events, such as war or insurrection, mark the existence of 
5 the Anglo-Saxons as a separate people subsequent to 
the reign of William the Second, yet the great national 
distinctions betwixt them and their conquerors, the recol- 
lection of what they had formerly been, and to what 
they were now reduced, continued, down to the reign of 
10 Edward the Third, to keep open the wounds which the 
Conquest had inflicted, and to maintain a line of separa- 
tion betwixt the descendants of the victor Normans and 
the vanquished Saxons. 

15 The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades 
of that forest which we have mentioned in the begin- 
ning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short- 
stemmed, wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed per- 
haps the stately march of the Roman soldiery, flung their 
20 gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the most delicious 
green sward; in some places they were intermingled with 
beeches, hollies, and copsewood of various descriptions, 
so closely as totally to intercept the level beams of the 
sinking sun; in others they receded from each other, 
25 forming those long sweeping vistas in the intricacy of 
which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination 
considers them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of 
silvan solitude. Here the red rays of the sun shot a 
broken and discolored light, that partially hung upon the 
30 shattered boughs and mossy trunks of the trees, and 
there they illuminated in brilliant patches the portions of 
turf to which they made their way. A considerable 
open space, in the midst of this glade, seemed formerly 
to have been dedicated to the rites of Druidical super- 
35 stition; for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular as 
to seem artificial, there still remained part of a circle of 
rough, unhewn stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood 
upright; the rest had been dislodged from their places, 
probably by the zeal of some convert to Christianity, and 


Ivanhoe 


5 


lay, some prostrate near their former site, and others on 
the side of the hill. One large stone only had found its 
way to the bottom, and, in stopping the course of a small 
brook which glided smoothly round the foot of the emi- 
nence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmur 
to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet. 

The human figures which completed this landscape 
were in number two, partaking, in their dress and ap- 
pearance, of that wild and rustic character which be- 
longed to the woodlands of the West Riding of York- 
shire at that early period. The eldest of these men had 
a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His garment was of 
the simplest form imaginable, being a close jacket with 
sleeves, composed of the tanned skin of some animal, 
on which the hair had been originally left, but which 
had been worn off in so many places that it would have 
been difficult to distinguish, from the patches that re- 
mained, to what creature the fur had belonged. This 
primeval vestment reached from the throat to the knees, 
and served at once all the usual purposes of body-clothing ; 
there was no wider opening at the collar than was nec- 
essary to admit the passage of the head, from which it 
may be inferred that it was put on by slipping it over the 
head and shoulders, in the manner of a modern shirt, 
or ancient hauberk. Sandals, bound with thongs made 
of boar’s hide, protected the feet, and a roll of thin 
leather was twined artificially round the legs, and, 
ascending above the calf, left the knees bare, like those 
of a Scottish Highlander. To make the jacket sit yet 
more close to the body, it was gathered at the middle by 
a broad leathern belt, secured by a brass buckle; to one 
side of which was attached a sort of scrip, and to the 
other a ram’s horn, accoutered with a mouthpiece, for 
the purpose of blowing. In the same belt was stuck one 
of those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives, 
with a buck’s-horn handle, which were fabricated in the 
neighborhood, and bore even at this early period the 
name of a Sheffield whittle. The man had no covering 
upon his head, which was only defended by his own thick 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


6 


Ivanhoe 


hair, matted and twisted together, and scorched by the 
influence of the sun into a rusty dark-red color, forming 
a contrast with the ^overgrown beard upon his cheeks, 
which was rather of a yellow or amber hue. One part 
5 of his dress only remains, but it is too remarkable to 
be suppressed; it was a brass ring, resembling a dog’s 
collar, but without any opening, and soldered fast round 
his neck, so loose as to form no impediment to his breath- 
ing, yet so tight as to be incapable of being removed, 

10 excepting by the use of the file. On this singular gorget 
was engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscription of 
the following purport : — “ Gurth, the son of Beowulph, ■ 
is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.” 

Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s occupa- j 
15 tion, was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monu- | 
ments, a person about ten years younger in appearance, 
and whose dress, though resembling his companion’s in ; 
form, was of better materials, and of a more fantastic ij 
description. His jacket had been stained of a bright f 
20 purple hue, upon which there had been some attempt to 
paint grotesque ornaments in different colors. To the 
jacket he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached 
half-way down his thigh; it was of crimson cloth, though 
a good deal soiled, lined with bright yellow ; and as 
25 he could transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or 
at his pleasure draw it all around him, its width, contrasted 
with its want of longitude, formed a fantastic piece of j 
drapery. He had thin silver bracelets upon his arms, 
and on his neck a collar of the same metal, bearing the 1 
30 inscription, “ Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall j 
of Cedric of Rotherwood.” This personage had the same j 
sort of sandals with his companion, but instead of the : ,i 
roll of leather thong, his legs were cased in a sort of ,! 
gaiters, of which one was red and the other yellow. He 1 
35 was provided also with a cap, having around it more than 
one bell, about the size of those attached to hawks, which?,, I 
jingled as he turned his head to one side or other; and as 1 
he seldom remained a minute in the same posture, the J 
sound might be considered as incessant. Around the 


Ivanhoe 


7j 

edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the 
top into open work, resembling a coronet, while a pro- 
longed bag arose from within it, and fell down on one 
shoulder like an old-fashioned nightcap, or a jelly-bag, 
or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was to this 
part of the cap that the bells were attached ; which circum- 
stance, as well as the shape of his head-dress, and his own 
half-crazed, cunning expression of countenance, sufficiently 
pointed him out as belonging to the race of domestic 
clowns or jesters, maintained in the houses of the wealthy, 
to help away the tedium of those lingering hours which 
they were obliged to spend within doors. He bore, like 
his companion, a scrip attached to his belt, but had 
neither horn nor knife, being probably considered as be- 
longing to a class whom it is esteemed dangerous to en- 
trust with edge-tools. In place of these, he was equipped 
with a sword of lath, resembling that with which Har- 
lequin operates his wonders upon the modern stage. 

The outward appearance of these two men formed 
scarce a stronger contrast than their look and demeanor. 
That of the serf, or bondsman, was sad and sullen; his 
aspect was bent on the ground with an air of deep dejec- 
tion, which might be almost construed into apathy, had 
not the fire which occasionally sparkled in his red eye 
manifested that there slumbered, under the appearance 
of sullen despondency, a sense of oppression, and a dis- 
position to resistance. The looks of Wamba, on the 
other hand, indicated, as usual with his class, a sort of 
vacant curiosity, and fidgety impatience of any posture 
of repose, together with the utmost self-satisfaction re- 
specting his own situation and the appearance which he 
made. The dialogue which they maintained between 
them was carried on in Anglo-Saxon, which, as we 
said before, was universally spoken by the inferior classes, 
excepting the Norman soldiers and the immediate per- 
sonal dependants of the great feudal nobles. But to 
give their conversation in the original would convey but 
little information to the modern reader, for whose benefit 
we beg to offer the following translation : — 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


8 


Ivanhoe 


“ The curse of St. Withold upon these infernal 
porkers!” said the swineherd, after blowing his horn 
obstreperously, to collect together the scattered herd of 
swine, which, answering his call with notes equally 
5 melodious, made, however, no haste to remove themselves 
from the luxurious banquet of beech-mast and acorns 
on which they had fattened, or to forsake the marshy 
banks of the rivulet, where several of them, half-plunged 
in mud, lay stretched at their ease, altogether regardless 
10 of the voice of their keeper. “ The curse of St. Withold 
upon them and upon me!” said Gurth; “if the two- 
legged wolf snap not up some of them ere nightfall, 
I am no true man. Here, Fangs! Fangs! ” he ejaculated 
at the top of his voice to a ragged, wolfish-looking dog, 
15 a sort of lurcher, half mastiff, half greyhound, which 
ran limping about as if with the purpose of seconding 
his master in collecting the refractory grunters ; but 
which, in fact, from misapprehension of the swineherd’s 
signals, ignorance of his own duty, or malice prepense, 
20 only drove them hither and thither, and increased the 
evil which he seemed to design to remedy. “ A devil 
draw the teeth of him,” said Gurth, “ and the mother 
of mischief confound the ranger of the forest, that cuts 
the fore-claws off our dogs, and makes them unfit for 
25 their trade ! Wamba, up and help me an thou beest a 
man; take a turn round the back o’ the hill to gain the 
wind on them; and when thou’st got the weather-gauge, 
thou mayst drive them before thee as gently as so many 
innocent lambs.” 

30 “Truly,” said Wamba, without stirring from the spot, 
“ I have consulted my legs upon this matter, and they 
are altogether of opinion that to carry my gay garments 
through these sloughs would be an act of unfriendship 
to my sovereign person and royal wardrobe ; wherefore, 
35 Gurth, I advise thee to call off Fangs, and leave the herd 
to their destiny, which, whether they meet with bands 
of traveling soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering 
pilgrims, can be little else than to be converted into 


Ivanhoe 


9 

Normans before morning, to thy no small ease and 
comfort.” 

“ The swine turned Normans to my comfort ! ” quoth 
Gurth; “expound that to me, Wamba, for my brain is 
too dull and my mind too vexed to read riddles.” 

“ Why, how call you those grunting brutes running 
about on their four legs?” demanded Wamba. 

“ Swine, fool — swine,” said the herd ; “ every fool 
knows that.” 

“And swine is good Saxon,” said the Jester; “but how 
call you the sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and 
quartered, and hung up by the heels, like a traitor ? ” 

“ Pork,” answered the swineherd. 

“ I am very glad every fool knows that too,” said 
Wamba, “and pork, I think, is good Norman-French; 
and so when the brute lives, and is in the charge of a 
Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon name; but becomes a 
Norman, and is called pork, when she is carried to the 
castle hall to feast among the nobles. What dost thou 
think of this, friend Gurth, ha ? ” 

“ It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however 
it got into thy fool’s pate.” 

“ Nay, I can tell you more,” said Wamba in the same 
tone : “ there is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his 
Saxon epithet while he is under the charge of serfs and 
bondsmen such as thou, but becomes Beef, a fiery French 
gallant, when he arrives before the worshipful jaws that 
are destined to consume him. Mynherr Calf, too, be- 
comes Monsieur de Veau in the like manner: he is Saxon 
when he requires tendance, and takes a Norman name 
when he becomes matter of enjoyment.” 

“ By St. Dunstan,” answered Gurth, “ thou speakest 
but sad truths; little is left to us but the air we breathe, 
and that appears to have been reserved with much hesita- 
tion, solely for the purpose of enabling us to endure 
the tasks they lay upon our shoulders. The finest and 
the fattest is for their board; the loveliest is for their 
couch; the best and bravest supply their foreign masters. 


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Ivanhoe 


with soldiers, and whiten distant lands with their bones, 
leaving few here who have either will or the power to 
protect the unfortunate Saxon. God’s blessing on our 
Master Cedric, he hath done the work of a man in stand- 
5 ing in the gap; but Reginald Front-de-Boeuf is coming 
down to this country in person, and we shall soon see 
how little Cedric’s trouble will avail him. Here, here,” 
he exclaimed again, rising his voice, “ So ho ! so ho ! 
well done, Fangs ! thou hast them all before thee now, 
10 and bring’st them on bravely, lad.” 

“ Gurth,” said the Jester, “ I know thou thinkest me a 
fool, or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head 
into my mouth. One word to Reginald Front-de-Boeuf 
or Philip de Malvoisin, that thou hast spoken treason 
15 against the Norman — and thou art but a castaway swine- 
herd; thou wouldst waver on one of these trees as a 
terror to all evil speakers against dignities.” 

“ Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,” said Gurth, “ after 
having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage ? ” 

20 “ Betray thee ! ” answered the Jester ; “ no, that were 

the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help 
himself. But soft, whom have we here ? ” he said, listen- 
ing to the trampling of several horses which became then 
audible. 

25 “Never mind whom,” answered Gurth, who had now 
got his herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was 
driving them down one of the long dim vistas which 
we have endeavored to describe. 

“Nay, but I must see the riders,” answered Wamba; 
30 “ perhaps they are come from Fairyland with a message 
from King Oberon.” 

“A murrain take thee! ” rejoined the swineherd; “wilt 
thou talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder 
and lightning is raging within a few miles of us? Hark, 
35 how the thunder rumbles ! and for summer rain, I never 
saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the clouds ; 
the oaks, too, notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and 
creak with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest. 
Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; credit me for 


Ivanhoe 


ii 


once, and let us home ere the storm begins to rage, for 
the night will be fearful.” 

Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and 
accompanied his companion, who began his journey after 
catching up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the 5 
grass beside him. This second Eumaeus strode hastily 
down the forest glade, driving before him, with the as- 
sistance of Fangs, the whole of his inharmonious charge. 


CHAPTER II 


A monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie, 

An outrider that loved venerie; 

A manly man, to be an abbot able, 

Full many a daintie horse had he in stable. 

And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear 
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear, 

And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell, 

There as this lord was keeper of the cell. 

Chaucer. 

Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and chiding 
of his companion, the noise of the horsemen’s feet con- 
tinuing to approach, Wamba could not be prevented from 
lingering occasionally on the road, upon every pretense 
5 which occurred; now catching from the hazel a cluster 
of half-ripe nuts, and now turning his head to leer after 
a cottage maiden who crossed their path. The horsemen, 
therefore, soon overtook them on the road. 

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two 
10 who rode foremost seemed to be persons of considerable 
importance, and the others their attendants. It was not 
difficult to ascertain the condition and character of one 
of these personages. He was obviously an ecclesiastic of 
high rank; his dress was that of a Cistercian monk, but 
15 composed of materials much finer than those which the 
rule of that order admitted. His mantle and hood were 
of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in ample, and not un- 
graceful folds around a handsome though somewhat 
corpulent person. His countenance bore as little the 
20 marks of self-denial as his habit indicated contempt of 
worldly splendor. His features might have been called 
good, had there not lurked under the penthouse of ' his 
eye that sly epicurean twinkle which indicates the cau- 

12 


Ivanhoe 


13 

tious voluptuary. In other respects, his profession and 
situation had taught him a ready command over his 
countenance, which he could contract at pleasure into 
solemnity, although its natural expression was that of 
good-humored social indulgence. In defiance of conven- 5 
‘ tual rules and the edicts of popes and councils, the 
sleeves of this dignitary were lined and turned up with 
rich furs, his mantle secured at the throat with a golden 
clasp, and the whole dress proper to his order as much 
refined upon and ornamented as that of a Quaker beauty 10 
of the present day, who, while she retains the garb and 
costume of her sect, continues to give to its simplicity, 
by the choice of materials and the mode of disposing them, 
a certain air of coquettish attraction savoring but too 
much of the vanities of the world. 15 

This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed, ambling 
mule, whose furniture was highly decorated, and whose 
bridle, according to the fashion of the day, was orna- 
mented with silver bells. In his seat he had nothing of 
the awkwardness of the convent, but displayed the easy 20 
and habitual grace of a well-trained horseman. Indeed, 
it seemed that so humble a conveyance as a mule, in 
however good case, and however well broken to a pleas- 
ant and accommodating amble, was only used by the 
gallant monk for traveling on the road. A lay brother, 25 
one of those who followed in the train, had, for his use 
on other occasions, one of the most handsome Spanish 
jennets ever bred in Andalusia, which merchants used 
at that time to import, with great trouble and risk, for 
the use of persons of wealth and distinction. The saddle 30 
and housings of this superb palfrey were covered by a 
long foot-cloth, which reached nearly to the ground, 
and on which were richly embroidered miters, crosses, 
and other ecclesiastical emblems. Another lay brother 
led a sumpter mule, loaded probably with his superior’s 35 
baggage; and two monks of his own order, of inferior 
station, rode together in the rear, laughing and convers- 
ing with each other, without taking much notice of the 
other members of the cavalcade. 


Ivanhoe 


14 

The companion of the church dignitary was a man ; 
past forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; an athletic j 
figure, which long fatigue and constant exercise seemed 
to have left none of the softer part of the human form, 

5 having reduced the whole to brawn, bones, and sinews, 
which had sustained a thousand toils, and were ready to i 
dare a thousand more. His head was covered with a i 
scarlet cap, faced with fur, of that kind which the French 
call mortier , from its resemblance to the shape of an 
10 inverted mortar. His countenance was therefore fully 
displayed, and its expression was calculated to impress 
a degree of awe, if not of fear, upon strangers. High 
features, naturally strong and powerfully expressive, had 
been burnt almost into Negro blackness by constant ex- 
15 posure to the tropical sun, and might, in their ordinary 
state, be said to slumber after the storm of passion had 
passed away; but the projection of the veins of the fore- 
head, the readiness with which the upper lip and its 
thick black mustaches quivered upon the slightest emo- : 
20 tion, plainly intimated that the tempest might be again 
and easily awakened. His keen, piercing, dark eyes told ! 
in every glance a history of difficulties subdued and dan- 
gers dared, and seemed to challenge opposition to his | 
wishes, for the pleasure of sweeping it from his road by 
25 a determined exertion of courage and of will; a deep ( 
scar on his brow gave additional sternness to his counte- ! 
nance and a sinister expression to one of his eyes, i 
which had been slightly injured on the same occa- ■ 
sion, and of which the vision, though perfect, was in a ! 
30 slight and partial degree distorted. 

The upper dress of this personage resembled that of 
his companion in shape, being a long monastic mantle; 
but the color, being scarlet, showed that he did not be- 
long to any of the four regular orders of monks. On 
35 the right shoulder of the mantle there was cut, in white 
cloth, a cross of a peculiar form. This upper robe con- 
cealed what at first view seemed rather inconsistent with 
its form, a shirt, namely, of linked mail, with sleeves and 
gloves of the same, curiously plaited and interwoven, as 


Ivanhoe 15 

flexible to the body as those which are now wrought in 
the stocking-loom out of less obdurate materials. The 
fore-part of his thighs, where the folds of his mantle 
permitted them to be seen, were also covered with linked 
mail; the knees and feet were defended by splints, or 5 
thin plates of steel, ingeniously jointed upon each other; 
and mail hose, reaching from the ankle to the knee, ef- 
fectually protected the legs, and completed the rider’s 
defensive armor. In his girdle he wore a long and 
double-edged dagger, which was the only offensive weapon 10 
about his person. 

He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a strong 
hackney for the road, to save his gallant war-horse, which 
a squire led behind, fully accoutered for battle, with a 
chamfron or plaited head-piece upon his head, having a 15 
short spike projecting from the front. On one side of 
the saddle hung a short battle-ax, richly inlaid with Dam- 
ascene carving; on the other the rider’s plumed head- 
piece and hood of mail, with a long two-handed sword, 
used by the chivalry of the period. A second squire held 20 
aloft his master’s lance, from the extremity of which 
fluttered a small banderole, or streamer, bearing a cross 
of the same form with that embroidered upon his cloak. 

He also carried his small triangular shield, broad enough 
at the top to protect the breast, and from thence dimin- 25 
ishing to a point. It was covered with a scarlet cloth, 
which prevented the device from being seen. 

These two squires were followed by two attendants, 
whose dark visages, white turbans, and the Oriental form 
of their garments, showed them to be natives of some 30 
distant Eastern country. The whole appearance of this 
warrior and his retinue was wild and outlandish; the 
dress of his squires was gorgeous, and his Eastern at- 
tendants wore silver collars round their throats, and 
bracelets of the same metal upon their swarthy legs and 35 
arms, of which the latter were naked from the elbow, 
and the former from mid-leg to ankle. Silk and em- 
broidery distinguished their dresses, and marked the 
wealth and importance of their master; forming, at the 


i 6 Ivanhoe 

same time, a striking contrast with the martial simplicity 
of his own attire. They were armed with crooked sabers, 
having the hilt and baldric inlaid with gold, and matched 
with Turkish daggers of yet more costly workmanship. 
5 Each of them bore at his saddle-bow a bundle of darts 
or javelins, about four feet in length, having sharp steel 
heads, a weapon much in use among the Saracens, and 
of which the memory is yet preserved m the martial ex- 
ercise called El Jerrid , still practiced in the Eastern coun- 
10 tries. 

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as 
foreign as their riders. They were of Saracen origin, 
and consequently of Arabian descent; and their fine 
slender limbs, small fetlocks, thin manes, and easy 
15 springy motion, formed a marked contrast with the large- 
jointed heavy horses, of which the race was cultivated 
in Flanders and in Normandy for mounting the men-at- 
arms of the period in all the panoply of plate and mail, 
and which, placed by the side of those Eastern coursers, 
20 might have passed for a personification of substance and 
of shadow. 

The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only 
attracted the curiosity of Wamba, but excited even that 
of his less volatile companion. The monk he instantly 
25 knew to be the Prior of Jorvaulx Abbey, well known 
for many miles around as a lover of the chase, of the 
banquet, and, if fame did him not wrong, of other worldly 
pleasures still more inconsistent with his monastic vows. 

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the 
30 conduct of the clergy, whether secular or regular, that 
the Prior Aymer maintained a fair character in the 
neighborhood of his abbey. His free and jovial temper, 
and the readiness with which he granted absolution from 
all ordinary delinquencies, rendered him a favorite among 
35 the nobility and principal gentry, to several of whom 
he was allied by birth, being of a distinguished Norman 
family. The ladies, in particular, were not disposed to 
scan too nicely the morals of a man who was a pro- 
fessed admirer of their sex, and who possessed many 


Ivanhoe 


!7 

means of dispelling the ennui which was too apt to in- 
trude upon the halls and bowers of an ancient feudal 
castle. The Prior mingled in the sports of the field with 
more than due eagerness, and was allowed to possess 
the best-trained hawks and the fleetest greyhounds in the 
North Riding — circumstances which strongly recom- 
mended him to the youthful gentry. With the old he 
had another part to play, which, when needful, he could 
sustain with great decorum. His knowledge of books, 
however superficial, was sufficient to impress upon their 
ignorance respect for his supposed learning ; and the 
gravity of his deportment and language, with the high 
tone which he exerted in setting forth the authority of 
the church and of the priesthood, impressed them no less 
with an opinion of his sanctity. Even the common peo- 
ple, the severest critics of the conduct of their betters, 
had commiseration with the follies of Prior Aymer. 
He was generous; and charity, as it is well known, cov- 
ereth a multitude of sins, in another sense than that in 
which it is said to do so in Scripture. The revenues of 
the monastery, of which a large part was at his disposal, 
while they gave him the means of supplying his own 
very considerable expenses, afforded also those largesses 
which he bestowed among the peasantry, and with which 
he frequently relieved the distresses of the oppressed. 
If Prior Aymer rode hard in the chase, or remained 
long at the banquet, if Prior Aymer was seen at the 
early peep of dawn to enter the postern of the abbey, 
as he glided home from some rendezvous which had 
occupied the hours of darkness, men only shrugged up 
their shoulders, and reconciled themselves to his irreg- 
ularities by recollecting that the same were practiced by 
many of his brethren who had no redeeming qualities 
whatsoever to atone for them. Prior Aymer, therefore, 
and his character, were well known to our Saxon serfs, 
who made their rude obeisance, and received his “ Benedi- 
cite, mes filz,” in return. 

But the singular appearance of his companion and his 
attendants arrested their attention and excited their 


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Ivanhoe 


wonder, and they could scarcely attend to the Prior of 
Jorvaulx’ question, when he demanded if they knew of 
any place of harborage in the vicinity; so much were 
they surprised at the half-monastic, half-military ap- 
5 pearance of the swarthy stranger, and at the uncouth 
dress and arms of his Eastern attendants. It is prob- 
able, too, that the language in which the benediction 
was conferred, and the information asked, sounded un- 
gracious, though not probably unintelligible, in the ears 
10 of the Saxon peasants. 

“ I asked you, my children,” said the Prior, raising 
his voice, and using the lingua Franca , or mixed lan- 
guage,' in which the Norman and Saxon races conversed 
with each other, “ if there be in this neighborhood any 
15 good man who, for the love of God and devotion to 
Mother Church, will give two of her humblest servants, 
with their train, a night’s hospitality and refreshment ? ” 

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, 
which formed a strong, contrast to the modest terms 
20 which he thought it proper to employ. 

“ Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church ! ” 
repeated Wamba to himself, but, fool as he was, taking 
care not to make his observation audible ; “ I should like 
to see her seneschals, her chief butlers, and her other 
25 principal domestics ! ” 

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, 
he raised his eyes and replied to the question which had 
been put. 

“ If the reverend fathers,” he said, “ loved good cheer 
30 and soft lodging, few miles of riding would carry them 
to the Priory of Brinxworth, where their quality could 
not but secure them the most honorable reception; or if 
they preferred spending a penitential evening, they might 
turn down yonder wild glade, which would bring them 
35 to the hermitage of Copmanhurst, where a pious anchoret 
would make them sharers for the night of the shelter of 
his roof and the benefit of his prayers.” 

The Prior shook his head at both proposals. 

“ Mine honest friend,” said he, “ if the jangling of thy 


Ivanhoe 


19 

bells had not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst 
know Clericus clericum non decimat; that is to say, we 
churchmen do not exhaust each other’s hospitality, but 
rather require that of the laity, giving them thus an op- 
portunity to serve God in honoring and relieving His 
appointed servants.” 

“ It is true,” replied Wamba, “ that I, being but an 
ass, am, nevertheless, honored to bear the bells as well 
as your reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I did con- 
ceive that the charity of Mother Church and her serv- 
ants might be said, with other charity, to begin at 
home.” 

“ A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed 
rider, breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern 
voice, “ and tell us, if thou canst, the road to — How 
call’d you your franklin, Prior Aymer ? ” 

“ Cedric,” answered the Prior — “ Cedric the Saxon. 
Tell me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling, and can 
you show us the road ? ” 

“ The road will be uneasy to find,” answered Gurth, 
who broke silence for the first time, “ and the family of 
Cedric retire early to rest.” 

“Tush, tell not me, fellow!” said the military rider; 
“ ’tis easy for them to arise and supply the wants of 
travelers such as we are, who will not stoop to beg the 
hospitality which we have a right to command.” 

“ I know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, “ if I should show 
the way to my master’s house to those whq demand as 
a right the shelter which most are fain to ask as a 
favor.” 

“ Do you dispute with me, slave ! ” said the soldier ; 
and, setting spurs to his horse, he caused him make a 
demi-volte across the path, raising at the same time the 
riding rod which he held in his hand, with a purpose of 
chastising what he considered as the insolence of the 
peasant. 

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, 
and with a fierce yet. hesitating motion laid his hand on 
the haft of his knife; but the interference of Prior 


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Ivanhoe 


Aymer, who pushed his mule betwixt his companion and 
the swineherd, prevented the meditated violence. 

“ Nay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not think 
you are now in Palestine, predominating . over heathen 
5 Turks and infidel Saracens; we islanders love not blows, 
save those of Holy Church, who chasteneth whom she 
loveth. Tell me, good fellow/’ said he to Wamba, and 
seconded his speech by a small piece of silver coin, “ the 
way to Cedric the Saxon’s; you cannot be ignorant of 
1° it, and it is your duty to direct the wanderer even when 
his character is less sanctified than ours.” 

“ In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, 
“ the Saracen head of your right reverend companion has 
frightened out of mine the way home: I am not sure I 
15 shall get there to-night myself.” 

“ Tush,” said the Abbot, “ thou canst tell us if thou 
wilt. This reverend brother has been all his life en- 
gaged in fighting among the Saracens for the recovery 
of the Holy Sepulcher; he is of the order of Knights 
20 Templars, whom you may have heard of: he is half a 
monk, half a soldier.” 

“ If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “ he should 
not be wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets 
upon the road, even if they should be in no hurry to 
25 answer questions that no way concern them.” 

“ I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “ on condition 
thou wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.” 

“ Well, then,” answered Wamba, “ your reverences must 
hold on thH path till you come to a sunken cross, of 
30 which scarce a cubit’s length remains above ground; then 
take the path to the left, for there are four which meet at 
Sunken Cross, and I trust your reverences will obtain 
shelter before the storm comes on.” 

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser ; and the cavalcade, 
35 setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do who 
wish to reach their inn before the bursting: of a night- 
storm. 

As their horses’ hoofs died away, Gurth said to his 
companion, “ If they follow thy wise direction, the rev- 


Ivanhoe 


21 


erend fathers will hardly reach Rotherwood this night.” 

“ No,” said the Jester, grinning, “ but they may reach 
Sheffield if they have good luck, and that is as fit a place 
for them. I am not so bad a woodsman as to show the 
; dog where the deer lies, if I have no mind he should 
i chase him.” 

“ Thou art right,” said Gurth ; “ it were ill that Aymer 
saw the Lady Rowena; and it were worse, it may be, for 
i Cedric to quarrel, as is most likely he would, with this 
. military monk. But, like good servants, let us hear and 
, see, and say nothing.” 

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bonds- 
men far behind them, and who maintained the following 
conversation in the Norman-French language, usually 
employed by the superior classes, with the exception of 
I the few who were still inclined to boast their Saxon de- 
! scent : — 

“ What mean these fellows by their capricious inso- 
I lence ? ” said the Templar to the Cistercian, “ and why 
did you prevent me from chastising it ? ” 

“ Marry, brother Brian,” replied the Prior, “ touching 
the one of them, it were hard for me to render a reason 
for a fool speaking according to his folly; and the other 
churl is of that savage, fierce, intractable race some of 
whom, as I have often told you, are still to be found 
among the descendants of the conquered Saxons, and 
whose supreme pleasure it is to testify, by all means in 
their power, their aversion to their conquerors.” 

“ I would soon have beat him into courtesy,” observed 
Brian; “I am accustomed to deal with such spirits. 
Our Turkish captives are as fierce and intractable as 
Odin himself could have been ; yet two months in my 
household, under the management of my master of the 
slaves, has made them humble, submissive, serviceable, 
and observant of your will. Marry, sir, you must be- 
ware of the poison and the dagger; for they use either 
with free will when you give them the slightest oppor- 
tunity.” 

“ Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, “ every land has 


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Ivanhoe 


its own manners and fashions ; and, besides that beat- 
ing this fellow could procure us no information respect- 
ing the road to Cedric’s house, it would have been sure 
to have established a quarrel betwixt you and him had we 
5 found our way thither. Remember what I told you: this 
wealthy franklin is proud, fierce, jealous, and irritable, 
a withstander of the nobility, and even of his neighbors, 
Reginald Front-de-Bceuf and Philip Malvoisin, who are 
no babes to strive with. He stands up so sternly for 
10 the privileges of his race, and is so proud of his uninter- 
rupted descent from Hereward, a renowned champion of 
the Heptarchy, that he is universally called Cedric the 
Saxon; and makes a boast of his belonging to a people 
from whom many others endeavor to hide their descent, 

15 lest they should encounter a share of the vcz victis , or 
severities imposed upon the vanquished.” 

“ Prior Aymer,” said the Templar, “ you are a man of 
gallantry, learned in the study of beauty, and as expert 
as a troubadour in all matters concerning the arrets of 
20 love ; but I shall expect much beauty in this celebrated 
Rowena, to counterbalance the self-denial and forbear- 
ance which I must exert if I am to court the favor of 
such a seditious churl as you have described her father 
Cedric.” 

25 “ Cedric is not her father,” replied the Prior, “ and is 

but of remote relation : she is descended from higher blood 
than even he pretends to, and is but distantly connected l 
with him by birth. Her guardian, however, he is, self- 
constituted as I believe; but his ward is as dear to him 
30 as if she were his own child. Of her beauty you shall 
soon be judge; and if the purity of her complexion, and 
the majestic yet soft expression of a mild blue eye, do 
not chase from your memory the black-tressed girls of 
Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound’s paradise, 

35 I am an infidel and no true son of the church.” 

“ Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar, “ be 
weighed in the balance and found wanting, you know our 
wager ? ” 

“ My gold collar,” answered the Prior, “ against ten 


Ivanhoe 


23 

butts of Chian wine: they are mine as securely as if they 
were already in the convent vaults, under the key of old 
Dennis, the cellarer.” 

“ And I am myself to be judge,” said the Templar, 

“ and I am only to be convicted on my own admission that 5 
I have seen no maiden so beautiful since Pentecost was 
a twelvemonth. Ran it not so? Prior, your collar is in 
danger; I will wear it over my gorget in the lists of 
Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“ Win it fairly,” said the Prior, “ and wear it as ye 10 
will; I will trust your giving true response, on your 
word as a knight and as a churchman. Yet, brother, 
take my advice, and file your tongue to a little more cour- 
tesy than your habits of predominating over infidel cap- 
tives and Eastern bondsmen have accustomed you. Cedric 15 
the Saxon, if offended — and he is noway slack in taking 
offense — is a man who, without respect to your knight- 
hood, my high office, or the sanctity of either, would N 
clear his house of us, and send us to lodge with the 
larks, though the hour was midnight. And be careful 20 
how you look on Rowena, whom he cherishes with the 
most jealous care; an he take the least alarm in that 
quarter we are but lost men. It is said he banished his 
only son from his family for lifting his eyes in the way 
of affection towards this beauty, who may be worshiped, 25 
it seems, at a distance, but is not to be approached with 
other thoughts than such as we bring to the shrine of the 
Blessed Virgin.” 

“Well, you have said enough,” answered the Templar; 

“ I will for a night put on the needful restraint, and de- 30 
port me as meekly as a maiden ; but as for the fear of 
his expelling us by violence, myself and squires, with 
Hamet and Abdalla, will warrant you against that dis- 
grace. Doubt not that we shall be strong enough to 
make good our quarters.” 35 

“ We must not let it come so far,” answered the Prior. 

“ But here is the clown’s sunken cross, and the night is 
so dark that we can hardly see which of the roads we 
are to follow. He bid us turn, I think, to the left.” 


24 Ivanhoe 

“ To the right,” said Brian, “ to the best of my remem- 
brance.” 

“ To the left — certainly the left; I remember his point- 
ing with his wooden sword.” 

5 “ Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, and so 

pointed across his body with it,” said the Templar. 

Each maintained his. opinion with sufficient obstinacy, 
as is usual in all such cases; the attendants were appealed 
to, but they had not been near enough to hear Wamba’s 
10 directions. At length Brian remarked, what had at first 
escaped him in the twilight — “ Here is some one either 
asleep or lying dead at the foot of this cross. Hugo, 
stir him with the butt-end of thy lance.” 

This was no sooner done than the figure arose, ex- 
15 claiming in good French, “ Whosoever thou art, it is 
discourteous in you to disturb my thoughts.” 

“ We did but wish to ask you,” said the Prior, “ the 
road to Rotherwood, the abode of Cedric the Saxon.” 

“ I myself am bound thither,” replied the stranger ; 
20 “ and if I had a horse I would be your guide, for the way 
is somewhat intricate, though perfectly well known to 
me.” 

“ Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my friend,” 
said the Prior, “ if thou wilt bring us to Cedric’s in safety.” 
25 And he caused one of his attendants to mount his own 
led horse and give that upon which he had hitherto ridden 
to the stranger who was to serve for a guide. 

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that 
which Wamba had recommended for the purpose of mis- 
30 leading them. The path soon led deeper into the wood- 
land, and crossed more than one brook, the approach to 
which was rendered perilous by the marshes through 
which it flowed; but the stranger seemed to know, as if 
by instinct, the soundest ground and the safest points of 
35 passage; and, by dint of caution and attention, brought 
the party safely into a wider avenue than any they had yet 
seen; and, pointing to a large, low, irregular building at 
the upper extremity, he said to the Prior, “ Yonder is 
Rotherwood, the dwelling of Cedric the Saxon.” 


Ivanhoe 


25 

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose nerves 
were none of the strongest, and who had suffered such 
agitation and alarm in the course of passing through the 
dangerous bogs, that he had not yet had the curiosity 
to ask his guide a single question. Finding himself now 
at his ease and near shelter, his curiosity began to awake, 
and he demanded of the guide who and what he was. 

“ A palmer, just returned from the Holy Land,” was 
the answer. 

“ You had better have tarried there to fight for the 
recovery of the Holy Sepulcher,” said the Templar. 

“True, Reverend Sir Knight,” answered the Palmer, 
to whom the appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly 
familiar ; “ but when those who are under oath to re- 
cover the holy city are found traveling at such a distance 
from the scene of their duties, can you wonder that a 
peaceful peasant like me should decline the task which they 
have abandoned ? ” 

The Templar would have made an angry reply, but 
was interrupted by the Prior, who again expressed his 
astonishment that their guide, after such long absence, 
should be so perfectly acquainted with the passes of the 
forest. 

“ I was born a native of these parts,” answered their 
guide, and as he made the reply they stood before the 
mansion of Cedric — a low, irregular building, contain- 
ing several courtyards or inclosures, extending over a 
considerable space of ground, and which, though its 
size argued the inhabitant to be a person of wealth, 
differed entirely from the tall, turreted, and castellated 
buildings in which the Norman nobility resided, and 
which had become the universal style of architecture 
throughout England. 

Rotherwood was not, however, without defenses; no 
habitation, in that disturbed period, could have been so 
without the risk of being plundered and burnt before 
the next morning. A deep fosse, or ditch, was drawn 
round the whole building, and filled with water from a 
neighboring stream. A double stockade, or palisade, 


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Ivanhoe 


composed of pointed beams, which the adjacent forest 
supplied, defended the outer and inner bank of the trench. 
There was an entrance from the west through the outer 
stockade, which communicated by a drawbridge with a 
5 similar opening in the interior defenses. Some pre- 
cautions had been taken to place those entrances under 
the protection of projecting angles, by which they might 
be flanked in case of need by archers or slingers. 

Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn 
10 loudly; for the rain, which had long threatened, began 
now to descend with great violence. 


CHAPTER III 


Then (sad relief!) from the bleak coast that hears 
The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong. 

And yellow-hair’d, the blue-eyed Saxon came. 

Thomson’s Liberty. 

In a hall, the height of which was greatly dispropor- 
tioned to its extreme length and width, a long oaken table 
formed of planks rough-hewn from the forest, and which 
had scarcely received any polish, stood ready prepared 
for the evening meal of Cedric the Saxon. The roof, 
composed of beams and rafters, had nothing to divide 
the apartment from the sky excepting the planking and 
thatch; there was a huge fireplace at either end of the 
hall, but, as the chimneys were constructed in a very 
clumsy manner, at least as much of the smoke found 
its way into the apartment as escaped by the proper 
vent. The constant vapor which this occasioned had 
polished the rafters and beams of the low-browed hall, 
by encrusting them with a black varnish of soot. On 
the sides of the apartment hung implements of war and 
of the chase, and there were at each corner folding 
doors, which gave access to other parts of the extensive 
building. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook of the 
rude simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued 
himself upon maintaining. The floor was composed of 
earth mixed with lime, trodden into a hard substance, 
such as is often employed in flooring our modern barns. 
For about one quarter of the length of the apartment 
the floor was raised by a step, and this space, which was 
called the dais, was occupied only by the principal mem- 
bers of the family and visitors of distinction. For this 
purpose, a table richly covered with scarlet cloth was 

27 


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Ivanhoe 


28 

placed transversely across the platform, from the middle 
of which ran the longer and lower board, at which the 
domestics and inferior persons fed, down towards the 
bottom of the hall. The whole resembled the form of 
5 the letter T, or some of those ancient dinner-tables 
which, arranged on the same principles, may be still seen 
in the antique Colleges of Oxford or Cambridge. Mas- 
sive chairs and settles of carved oak were placed upon 
the dais, and over these seats and the more elevated 
10 table was fastened a canopy of cloth, which served in 
some degree to protect the dignitaries who occupied that 
distinguished station from the weather, and especially 
from the rain, which in some places found its way through 
the ill-constructed roof. 

15 The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the 
dais extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, 
and upon the floor there was a carpet, both of which were 
adorned with some attempts at tapestry or embroidery, 
executed with brilliant, or rather gaudy, coloring. Over 
20 the lower range of table, the roof, as we have noticed, 
had no covering; the rough plastered walls were left bare, 
and the rude earthen floor was uncarpeted; the board 
was uncovered by a cloth, and rude massive benches 
supplied the place of chairs. 

25 In the center of the upper table were placed two 
chairs more elevated than the rest, for the master and 
mistress of the family, who presided over the scene of 
hospitality, and from doing so derived their Saxon title 
of honor, which signifies “ the Dividers of Bread.” 

30 To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curiously 
carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark of distinction 
was peculiar to them. One of these seats was at present 
occupied by Cedric the Saxon, who, though but in rank 
a thane, or, as the Normans called him, a franklin, felt 
35 at the delay of his evening meal an irritable impatience 
which might have become an alderman, whether of 
ancient or of modern times. 

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this pro- 
prietor, that he was of a frank, but hasty and choleric, 


Ivanhoe 


29 

temper. He was not above the middle stature, but broad- 
shouldered, long-armed, and powerfully made, like one 
accustomed to endure the fatigue of war or of the chase; 
his face was broad, with large blue eyes, open and frank 
features, fine teeth, and a well-formed head, altogether 
expressive of that sort of good humor which often lodges 
with a sudden and hasty temper. Pride and jealousy 
there was in his eye, for his life had been spent in 
asserting rights which were constantly liable to invasion; 
and the prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of the 
man had been kept constantly upon the alert by the cir- 
cumstances of his situation. His long yellow hair was 
equally divided on the top of his head and upon his 
brow, and combed down on each side to the length of his 
shoulders: it had but little tendency to gray, although 
Cedric was approaching to his sixtieth year. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the 
throat and cuffs with what was called minever — a kind 
of fur inferior in quality to ermine, and formed, it is 
believed, of the skin of the gray squirrel. This doublet 
hung unbuttoned over a close dress of scarlet which sate 
tight to his body; he had breeches of the same, but 
they did not reach below the lower part of the thigh, 
leaving the knee exposed. His feet had sandals of the 
same fashion with the peasants, but of finer materials, 
and secured in the front with golden clasps. He had 
bracelets of gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of 
the same precious metal around his neck. About his 
waist he wore a richly studded belt, in which was stuck 
a short, straight, two-edged sword, with a sharp point, 
so disposed as to hang almost perpendicularly by his side. 
Behind his seat was hung a scarlet cloth cloak lined with 
fur, and a cap of the same materials, richly embroidered, 
which completed the dress of the opulent landholder 
when he chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, with 
a broad and bright steel head, also reclined against the 
back of his chair, which served him, when he walked 
abroad, for the purposes of a staff or of a weapon, as 
chance might require. 


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Several domestics, whose dress held various propor- 
tions betwixt the richness of their master’s and the 
coarse and simple attire of Gurth, the swineherd, watched 
the looks and waited the commands of the Saxon digni- 
5 tary. Two or three servants of a superior order stood 
behind their master upon the dais; the rest occupied the 
lower part of the hall. Other attendants there were of 
a different description : two or three large and shaggy 
greyhounds, such as were then employed in hunting the 
10 stag and wolf ; as many slow-hounds, of a large bony 
breed, with thick necks, large heads, and long ears; and 
one or two of the smaller dogs, now called terriers, 
which waited with impatience the arrival of the supper; 
but, with the sagacious knowledge of physiognomy pe- 
15 culiar to their race, forbore to intrude upon the moody 
silence of their master, apprehensive probably of a small 
white truncheon which lay by Cedric’s trencher, for the 
purpose of repelling the advances of his four-legged 
dependants. One grisly old wolf-dog alone, with the 
20 liberty of an indulged favorite, had planted himself close 
by the chair of state, and occasionally ventured to solicit 
notice by putting his large hairy head upon his master’s 
knee, or pushing his nose into his hand. Even he was 
repelled by the stern command, “ Down, Balder — down ! 
25 I am not in the humor for foolery.” 

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very 
placid state of mind. The Lady Rowena, who had been 
absent to attend an evening mass at a distant church, 
had but just returned, and was changing her garments, 
30 which had been wetted by the storm. There were as 
yet no tidings of Gurth and his charge, which should 
long since have been driven home from the forest; and 
such was the insecurity of the period as to render it 
probable that the delay might be explained by some 
35 depredation of the outlaws, with whom the adjacent 
forest abounded, or by the violence of some neighboring 
baron, whose consciousness of strength made him equally 
negligent of the laws of property. The matter was of 


Ivanhoc 


31 

consequence, for great part of the domestic wealth of 
the Saxon proprietors consisted in numerous herds of 
swine, especially in forest land, where those animals easily 
found their food. 

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane 
was impatient for the presence of his favorite clown, 
Wamba, whose jests, such as they were, served for a sort 
of seasoning to his evening meal, and to the deep draughts 
of ale and wine with which he was in the habit of ac- 
companying it. Add to all this, Cedric had fasted since 
noon, and his usual supper hour was long past, a cause 
of irritation common to. country squires, both in ancient 
and modern times. His displeasure was expressed in 
broken sentences, partly muttered to himself, partly ad- 
dressed to the domestics who stood around; and particu- 
larly to his cupbearer, who offered him from time to time, 
as a sedative, a silver goblet filled with wine — “ Why 
tarries the Lady Rowena?” 

“ She is but changing her head-gear,” replied a female 
attendant, with as much confidence as the favorite lady’s- 
maid usually answers the master of a modern family; 
“ you would not wish her to sit down to the banquet in 
her hood and kirtle? and no lady within the shire can 
be quicker in arraying herself than my mistress.” 

This undeniable argument produced a sort of ac- 
quiescent “ Umph ! ” on the part of the Saxon, with the 
addition, “ I wish her devotion may choose fair weather 
for the next visit to St. John’s Kirk. But what, in the 
name of ten devils,” continued he, turning to the cup- 
bearer, and raising his voice, as if happy to have found 
a channel into which he might divert his indignation 
without fear or control — “ what, in the name of ten 
devils, keeps Gurth so long a-field? I suppose we shall 
have an evil account of the herd; he was wont to be a 
faithful and cautious drudge, and I had destined him 
for something better; perchance I might even have made 
him one of my wardens.” 

Oswald, the cupbearer, modestly suggested, “ That it 


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Ivanhoe 


32 

was scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew ” — 
an ill-chosen apology, since it turned upon a topic so 
harsh to Saxon ears. 

“ The foul fiend,” exclaimed Cedric, “ take the curfew- 
5 bell, and the tyrannical bastard by whom it was devised, 
and the heartless slave who names it with a Saxon tongue 
to a Saxon ear ! The curfew ! ” he added, pausing — 
“ ay, the curfew, which compels true men to extinguish 
their lights, that thieves and robbers may work their 
10 deeds in darkness ! Ay, the curfew ! Reginald Front- 
de-Boeuf and Philip de Malvoisin know the use of the 
curfew as well as William the Bastard himself, or e’er 
a Norman adventurer that fought at Hastings. I shall 
hear, I guess, that my property has been swept off to 
15 save from starving the hungry banditti whom they cannot 
support but by theft and robbery. My faithful slave is 
murdered, and my goods are taken for a prey ; and 
Wamba — where is Wamba? Said not some one he had 
gone forth with Gurth ? ” 

20 Oswald replied in the affirmative. 

“ Ay ! why, this is better and better ! he is carried off 
too, the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman lord. Fools 
are we all indeed that serve them, and fitter subjects 
for their scorn and laughter than if we were born with 
25 but half our wits. But I will be avenged,” he added, 
starting from his chair in impatience at the supposed 
injury, and catching hold of his boar-spear; “I will go 
with my complaint to the great council. I have friends, 
I have followers; man to man will I appeal the Nor- 
30 man to the lists. Let him come in his plate and his 
mail, and all that can render cowardice bold: I have sent 
such a javelin as this through a stronger fence than 
three of their war shields ! Haply they think me old ; 
but they shall find, alone and childless as I am, the blood 
35 of Iiereward is in the veins of Cedric. Ah, Wilfred, 
Wilfred ! ” he exclaimed in a lower tone, “ couldst thou 
have ruled thine unreasonable passion, thy father had not 
been left in his age like the solitary oak that throws out 
its shattered and unprotected branches against the full 


Ivanhoe 


33 

sweep of the tempest ! ” The reflection seemed to con- 
jure into sadness his irritated feelings. Replacing his 
javelin, he resumed his seat, bent his looks downward, 
and appeared to be absorbed in melancholy reflection. 

From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened by 
the blast of a horn, which was replied to by the clam- 
orous yells and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and 
some twenty or thirty which were quartered in other parts 
of the building. It cost some exercise of the white trun- 
'cheon, well seconded by the exertions of the domestics, 
to silence this canine clamor. 

“ To the gate, knaves ! ” said the Saxon, hastily, as 
soon as the tumult was so much appeased that the de- 
pendants could hear his voice. “ See what tidings that 
horn tells us of: to announce, I ween, some hership and 
robbery which has been done upon my lands.” 

Returning in less than three minutes, a warder an- 
nounced, “ That the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, and the 
good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander of the 
valiant and venerable order of Knights Templars, with 
a small retinue, requested hospitality and lodging for 
the night, being on their way to a tournament which was 
to be held not far from Ashby-de-la-Zouche on the second 
day from the present.” 

“Aymer — the Prior Aymer! Brian de Bois-Guilbert! ” 
muttered Cedric — “ Normans both ; but Norman or 
Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwood must not be im- 
peached: they are welcome, since they have chosen to 
halt; more welcome would they have been to have ridden 
further on their way. But it were unworthy to mur- 
mur for a night’s lodging and a night’s food; in the 
quality of guests, at least, even Normans must suppress 
their insolence. Go, Hundebert,” he added, to a sort of 
major-domo who stood behind him with a white wand; 
“take six of the attendants and introduce the strangers 
to the guests’ lodging. Look after their horses and mules, 
and see their train lack nothing. Let them have change 
of vestments if they require it, and fire, and water to 
wash, and wine and ale; and bid the cooks add what 


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Ivanhoe 


34 

they hastily can to our evening meal; and let it be put 
on the board when those strangers are ready to share it. 
Say to them, Hundebert, that Cedric would himself bid 
them welcome, but he is under a vow never to step more 
5 than three steps from the dais of his own hall to meet 
any who shares not the blood of Saxon royalty. Begone ! 
see them carefully tended ; let them not say in their pride, 
the Saxon churl has shown at once his poverty and his 
avarice.” 

10 The major-domo departed with several attendants to 
execute his master’s commands. “ The Prior Aymer ! ” 
repeated Cedric, looking to Oswald, “ the brother, if I 
mistake not, of Giles de Mauleverer, now lord of Middle- 
ham ? ” 

15 Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. “ His brother 
sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better 
race — the race of Ulfgar of Middleham; but what Nor- 
man lord doth not the same? This Prior is, they say, 
a free and jovial priest, who loves the wine-cup and the 
20 bugle-horn better than bell and book. Good; let him 
come, he shall be welcome. How named ye the 
Templar? ” 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert ! ” said Cedric, still in the musing, half- 
25 arguing tone which the habit of living among dependants 
had accustomed him to employ, and which resembled a 
man who talks to himself rather than to those around 
him — “ Bois-Guilbert ! That name has been spread wide 
both for good and evil. They say he is valiant as the 
30 bravest of his order; but stained with their usual vices 
— pride, arrogance, cruelty, and voluptuousness — a 
hard-hearted man, who knows neither fear of earth nor 
awe of heaven. So say the few warriors who have re- 
turned from Palestine. Well, it is but for one night; 
35 he shall be welcome too. Oswald, broach the oldest 
wine-cask; place the best mead, the mightiest ale, the 
richest morat, the most sparkling cider, the most odor- 
iferous pigments upon the board ; fill the largest horns : 
Templars and abbots love good wines and good measure. 


Ivanhoe 


35 

Elgitha, let thy Lady Rowena know we shall not this 
night expect her in the hall, unless such be her especial 
pleasure. ,, 

“ But it will be her especial pleasure/’ answered 
Elgitha, with great readiness, “ for she is ever desirous 
to hear the latest news from Palestine.” 

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty 
resentment; but Rowena and whatever belonged to her 
were privileged, and secure from his anger. He only 
replied, “ Silence, maiden ; thy tongue outruns thy dis- 
cretion. Say my message to thy mistress, and let her 
do her pleasure. Here, at least, the descendant of Al- 
fred still reigns a princess.” 

Elgitha left the apartment. 

“ Palestine ! ” repeated the Saxon — “ Palestine ! how 
many ears are turned to the tales which dissolute cru- 
saders or hypocritical pilgrims bring from that fatal 
land ! I too might ask — I too might inquire — I too 
might listen with a beating heart to fables which the 
wily strollers devise to cheat us into hospitality; but no 
— the son who has disobeyed me is no longer mine ; 
nor will I concern myself more for his fate than for 
that of the most worthless among the millions that ever 
shaped the cross on their shoulder, rushed into excess 
and blood-guiltiness, and called it an accomplishment of 
the will of God.” 

He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant 
on the ground; as he raised them, the folding doors at 
the bottom of the hall were cast wide, and preceded by the 
major-domo with his wand, and four domestics bearing 
blazing torches, the guests of the evening entered the 
apartment. 


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CHAPTER IV 


With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled, 

And the proud steer was on the marble spread ; 

With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round, 

Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown’d. 

Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat ; 

A trivet table and ignobler seat, 

The Prince assigns — 

Odyssey. Book XX. 

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity afforded 
him of changing his riding robe for one of yet more 
costly materials, over which he wore a cope curiously 
embroidered. Besides the massive golden signet ring 
5 which marked his ecclesiastical dignity, his fingers, though 
contrary to the canon, were loaded with precious gems; 
his sandals were of the finest leather which was im- 
ported from Spain ; his beard trimmed to as small di- 
mensions as his order would possibly permit, and his 
10 shaven crown concealed by a scarlet cap richly em- 
broidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also 
changed; and, though less studiously bedecked with orna- 
ment, his dress was as rich, and his appearance far more 
15 commanding, than that of his companion. He had ex- 
changed his shirt of mail for an under tunic of dark 
purple silk, garnished with furs, over which flowed his 
long robe of spotless white in ample folds. The eight- 
pointed cross of his order was cut on the shoulder of 
20 his mantle in black velvet. The high cap no longer in- 
vested his brows, which were only shaded by short and 
thick curled hair of a raven blackness, corresponding to 
his unusually swart complexion. Nothing could be more 

36 


Ivanhoe 


37 

gracefully majestic than his step and manner, had they 
not been marked by a predominant air of haughtiness, 
easily acquired by the exercise of unresisted authority. 

These two dignified persons were followed by their 
respective attendants, and at a more humble distance by 
their guide, whose figure had nothing more remarkable 
than it derived from the usual weeds of a pilgrim. A 
cloak or mantle of coarse black serge enveloped his whole 
body. It was in shape something like the cloak of a 
modern hussar, having similar flaps for covering the 
arms, and was called a “ sclaveyn,” or “ sclavonian.” 
Coarse sandals, bound with thongs, on his bare feet ; 
a broad and shadowy hat, with cockle-shells stitched on 
its brim, and a long staff shod with iron, to the upper end 
of which was attached a branch of palm, completed the 
Palmer’s attire. He followed modestly the last of the 
train which entered the hall, and, observing that the lower 
table scarce afforded room sufficient for the domestics of 
Cedric and the retinue of his guests, he withdrew to 
a settle placed beside, and almost under, one of the large 
chimneys, and seemed to employ himself in drying his 
garments, until the retreat of some one should make 
room at the board, or the hospitality of the steward should 
supply him with refreshments in the place he had chosen 
apart. 

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of digni- 
fied hospitality, and, descending from the dais, or ele- 
vated part of his hall, made three steps towards them, 
and then awaited their approach. 

“ I grieve,” he said, “ reverend Prior, that my vow 
binds me to advance no farther upon this floor of my 
fathers, even to receive such guests as you and this 
valiant Knight of the Holy Temple. But my steward 
has expounded to you the cause of my seeming discourtesy. 
Let me also pray that you will excuse my speaking to 
you in my native language, and that you will reply in 
the same if your knowledge of it permits; if not, I suf- 
ficiently understand Norman to follow your meaning.” 

“ Vows,” said the Abbot, “ must be unloosed, worthy 


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franklin, or permit me rather to say, worthy thane, though 
the title is antiquated. Vows are the knots which tie us 
to Heaven — they are the cords which bind the sacrifice 
to the horns of the altar — and are therefore, as I said 
5 before, to be unloosed and discharged, unless our Holy 
Mother Church shall pronounce the contrary. And re- 
specting language, I willingly hold communication in 
that spoken by my respected grandmother, Hilda of Mid- 
dleham, who died in odor of sanctity, little short, if we 
10 may presume to say so, of her glorious namesake, the 
blessed Saint Hilda of Whitby — God be gracious to her 
soul ! ” 

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a con- 
ciliatory harangue, his companion said briefly and em- 
15 phatically, “ I speak ever French, the language of King 
Richard and his nobles; but I understand English suf- 
ficiently to communicate with the natives of the country.” 

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty and 
impatient glances which comparisons between the two 
20 rival nations seldom failed to call forth ; but, recollecting 
the duties of hospitality, he suppressed further show of 
resentment, and, motioning with his hand, caused his 
guests to assume two seats a little lower than his own, 
but placed close beside him, and gave a signal that the 
25 evening meal should be placed upon the board. 

While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric’s com- 
mands, his eye distinguished Gurth, the swineherd, who, 
with his companion Wamba, had just entered the hall. 
“ Send these loitering knaves up hither,” said the Saxon, 
30 impatiently. And when the culpits came before the dais 
— “ How comes it, villains, that you have loitered abroad 
so late as this? Hast thou brought home thy charge, 
sirrah Gurth, or hast thou left them to robbers and 
marauders ? ” 

35 “ The herd is safe, so please ye,” said Gurth. 

“ But it does not please me, thou knave,” said Cedric, 
“ that I should be made to suppose otherwise for two 
hours, and sit here devising vengeance against my neigh- 
bors for wrongs they have not done me. I tell thee, 


Ivanhoe 


39 

shackles and the prison-house shall punish the next of- 
fense of this kind.” 

Gurth, knowing his master’s irritable temper, attempted 
no exculpation; but the Jester, who could presume upon 
Cedric’s tolerance, by virtue of his privileges as a fool, 
replied for them both — “ In troth, uncle Cedric, you are 
neither wise nor reasonable to-night.” 

“ How, sir ! ” said his master ; “ you shall to the por- 
ter’s lodge and taste of the discipline there if you give 
your foolery such license.” 

“ First let your wisdom tell me,” said Wamba, “ is it 
just and reasonable to punish one person for the fault 
of another ? ” 

“ Certainly not, fool,” answered Cedric. 

“ Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle, for 
the fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare be sworn we lost 
not a minute by the way, when we had got our herd 
together, which Fangs did not manage until we heard 
the vesper-bell.” 

“ Then hang up Fangs,” said Cedric, turning hastily 
towards the swineherd, “ if the fault is his, and get thee 
another dog.” 

“ Under favor, uncle,” said the Jester, “ that were still 
somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice; for it was 
no fault of Fangs that he was lame and could not gather 
the herd, but the fault of those that struck off two of his 
fore-claws, an operation for which, if the poor fellow 
had been consulted, he would scarce have given his 
voice.” 

“ And who dared to lame an animal which belonged to 
my bondsman ? ” said the Saxon, kindling in wrath. 

“ Marry, that did old Hubert,” said Wamba, “ Sir Philip 
de Malvoisin’s keeper of the chase. He caught Fangs 
strolling in the forest, and said he chased the deer con- 
trary to his master’s right, as warden of the walk.” 

“ The foul fiend take Malvoisin,” answered the Saxon, 
“ and his keeper both ! I will teach them that the wood 
was disforested in terms of the great Forest Charter. 
But enough of this. Go to, knave, — go to thy place; 


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and thou, Gurth, get thee another dog, and should the 
keeper dare to touch it, I will mar his archery ; the 
curse of a coward on my head, if I strike not off the 
forefinger of his right hand! he shall draw bowstring 
5 no more. I crave your pardon, my worthy guests. I 
am beset here with neighbors that match your infidels, 
Sir Knight, in Holy Land. But your homely fare is be- 
fore you; feed and let welcome make amends for hard 
fare.” 

10 The feast, however, which was spread upon the board 
needed no apologies from the lord of the mansion. 
Swine’s flesh, dressed in several modes, appeared on the 
lower part of the board, as also that of fowls, deer, 
goats, and hares, and various kinds of fish, together with 
15 huge loaves and cakes of bread, and sundry confections 
made of fruits and honey. The smaller sorts of wild-fowl, 
of which there was abundance, were not served up in 
platters, but brought in upon small wooden spits or 
broaches, and offered by the pages and domestics who bore 
20 them to each guest in succession, who cut from them 
such a portion as he pleased. Beside each person of 
rank was placed a goblet of silver; the lower board was 
accommodated with large drinking-horns. 

When the repast was about to commence, the major- 
25 domo, or steward, suddenly raising his wand, said aloud 
— “ Forbear ! Place for the Lady Rowena.” A side-door 
at the upper end of the hall now opened behind the 
banquet table, and Rowena, followed by four female at- 
tendants, entered the apartment. Cedric, though sur- 
30 prised, and perhaps not altogether agreeably so, at his 
ward appearing in public on this occasion, hastened to 
meet her, and to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, 
to the elevated seat at his own righfc hand appropriated 
to the lady of the mansion. All stood up to receive her; 
35 and, replying to their courtesy by a mute gesture of 
salutation, she moved gracefully forward to assume her 
place at the board. Ere she had time to do so, the 
Templar whispered to the Prior, “ I shall wear no collar 


Ivanhoe 


4i 

of gold of yours at the tournament. The Chian wine is 
your own.” 

“ Said I not so ? ” answered the Prior ; “ but check 
your raptures, the franklin observes you.” 

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only to 
act upon the immediate impulse of his own wishes, Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert kept his eyes riveted on the Saxon 
beauty, more striking perhaps to his imagination be- 
cause differing widely from those of the Eastern 
sultanas. 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Rowena 
was tall in stature, yet not so much as to attract ob- 
servation on account of superior height. Her complexion 
was exquisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head and 
features prevented the insipidity which sometimes at- 
taches to fair beauties. Her clear blue eye, which sate 
enshrined beneath a graceful eyebrow of brown, suffi- 
ciently marked to give expression to the forehead, seemed 
capable to kindle as well as melt, to command as well as 
to beseech. If mildness were the more natural expression 
of such a combination of features, it was plain that, in 
the present instance, the exercise of habitual superiority, 
and the reception of general homage, had given to the 
Saxon lady a loftier character, which mingled with and 
qualified that bestowed by nature. Her profuse hair, 
of a color betwixt brown and flaxen, was arranged in a 
fanciful and graceful manner in numerous ringlets, to 
form which art had probably aided nature. These locks 
were braided with gems, and being worn at full length, 
intimated the noble birth and free-born condition of the 
maiden. A golden chain, to which was attached a small 
reliquary of the same metal, hung round her neck. She 
wore bracelets on her arms, which were bare. Her dress 
was an under-gown and kirtle of pale sea-green silk, over 
which hung a long loose robe, which reached to the 
ground, having very wide sleeves, which came down, 
however, very little below the elbow. This robe was 
crimson, and manufactured out of the very finest wool. 


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Ivanhoe 


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A veil of silk, interwoven with gold, was attached to 
the upper part of it, which could be, at the wearer’s 
pleasure, either drawn over the face and bosom after 
the Spanish fashion, or disposed as a sort of drapery 
5 round the shoulders. 

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes 
bent on her with an ardor that, compared with the dark 
caverns under which they moved, gave them the effect 
of lighted charcoal, she drew with dignity the veil around 
10 her face, as an intimation that the determined freedom 
of his glance was disagreeable. 

Cedric saw the motion and its cause. “ Sir Templar,” 
said he, “ the cheeks of our Saxon maidens have seen 
too little of the sun to enable them to bear the fixed 
15 glance of a crusader.” 

“ If I have offended,” replied Sir Brian, “ I crave your 
pardon — that is, I crave the Lady Rowena’ s pardon, for 
my humility will carry me no lower.” 

“ The Lady Rowena,” said the Prior, “ has punished us 
20 all, in chastising the boldness of my friend. Let me hope 
she will be less cruel to the splendid train which. are to 
meet at the tournament.” 

“ Our going thither,” said Cedric, “ is uncertain. I 
love not these vanities, which were unknown to my fathers 
25 when England was free.” 

“ Let us hope, nevertheless,” said the Prior, “ our com- 
pany may determine you to travel thitherward; when the 
roads are so unsafe, the escort of Sir Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert is not to be despised.” 

30 “ Sir Prior,” answered the Saxon, “ wheresoever I have 

traveled in this land, I have hitherto found myself, with 
the assistance of my good sword and faithful followers, 
in no respect needful of other aid. At present, if we 
indeed journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche, we do so with my 
35 noble neighbor and countryman, Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh, and with such a train as would set outlaws and 
feudal enemies at defiance. I drink to you, Sir Prior, in 
this cup of wine, which I trust your taste will approve, 
and I thank you for your courtesy. Should you be so 


Ivanhoe 


43 

rigid in adhering to monastic rule/’ he added, “ as to 
prefer your acid preparation of milk, I hope you will not 
strain courtesy to do me reason.” 

“ Nay,” said the Priest, laughing, “ it is only in our 
abbey that we confine ourselves to the lac dulce or the 
lac acidum either. Conversing with the world, we use 
the world’s fashion, and therefore I answer your pledge 
in this honest wine, and leave the weaker liquor to my lay- 
brother.” 

“ And I,” said the Templar, filling his goblet, “ drink 
wassail to the fair Rowena; for since her namesake in- 
troduced the word into England, has never been one more 
worthy of such a tribute. By my faith, I could pardon 
the unhappy Vortigern, had he half the cause that we now 
witness for making shipwreck of his honor and his king- 
dom.” 

“ I will spare your courtesy. Sir Knight,” said Rowena 
with dignity, and without unveiling herself ; “ or rather 
I will tax it so far as to inquire of you the latest news 
from Palestine, a theme more agreeable to our English 
ears than the compliments which your French breeding 
teaches.” 

“ I have little of importance to say, lady,” answered 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ excepting the confirmed 
tidings of a truce with Saladin.” 

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken his ap- 
propriated seat upon a chair the back of which was 
decorated with two ass’s ears, and which was placed 
about two steps behind that of his master, who, from 
time to time, supplied him with victuals from his own 
trencher; a favor, however, which the Jester shared with 
the favorite dogs, of whom, as we have already noticed, 
there were several in attendance. Here sat Wamba, with 
a small table before him, his heels tucked up against the 
bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up so as to make his 
jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and his eyes half- 
shut, yet watching with alertness every opportunity to ex- 
ercise his licensed foolery. 

“ These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed, without 


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Ivanhoe 


44 

caring how suddenly he interrupted the stately Templar, 
“ make an old man of me ! ” 

“ Go to, knave — how so ? ” said Cedric, his features 
prepared to receive favorably the expected jest. 

5 “ Because,” answered Wamba, “ I remember three of 

them in my day, each of which was to endure for the 
course of fifty years; so that, by computation, I must be 
at least a hundred and fifty years old.” 

“ I will warrant you against dying of old age, how- 
10 ever,” said the Templar, who now recognized his friend 
of the forest ; “ I will assure you from all deaths but a 
violent one, if you give such directions to wayfarers as 
you did this night to the Prior and me.” 

“ How, sirrah ! ” said Cedric, “ misdirect travelers ? 
15 We must have you whipped; you are at least as much 
rogue as fool.” 

“ I pray thee, uncle,” answered the Jester, “ let my 
folly for once protect my roguery. I did but make a 
mistake between my right hand and my left; and he might 
20 have pardoned a greater who took a fool for his coun- 
selor and guide.” 

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of 
the porter’s page, who announced that there was a stranger 
at the gate, imploring admittance and hospitality. 

25 “ Admit him,” said Cedric, “ be he who or what he 

may: a night like that which roars without compels even 
wild animals to herd with tame, and to seek the pro- 
tection of man, their mortal foe, rather than perish by 
the elements. Let his wants be ministered to with all 
30 care; look to it, Oswald.” 

And the steward left the banqueting-hall to see the 
commands of his patron obeyed. 


CHAPTER V 


Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, di- 
mensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the 
same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the 
same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and 
cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian 
is? 

Merchant of Venice. 

Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his master, 
“It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of York; is it fit 
I should marshal him into the hall ? ” 

“ Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,” said Wamba with 
his usual effrontery : “ the swineherd will be a fit usher 
• to the Jew.” 

“ St. Mary,” said the Abbot, crossing himself, “ an 
unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence ! ” 

“ A dog Jew,” echoed the Templar, “ to approach a de- 
fender of the Holy Sepulcher?” 

“ By my faith,” said Wamba, “ it would seem the 
Templars love the Jews’ inheritance better than they do 
their company.” 

“ Peace, my worthy guests,” said Cedric ; “ my hospi- 
tality must not be bounded by your dislikes. If Heaven 
bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked unbelievers for 
more years than a layman can number, we may endure 
the presence of one Jew for a few hours. But I con-, 
strain no man to converse or to feed with him. Let him 
have a board and a morsel apart, — unless,” he said smil- 
ing, “ these turban’d strangers will admit his society.” 

“ Sir Franklin,” answered the Templar, “ my Saracen 
slaves are true Moslems, and scorn as much as any Chris- 
tian to hold intercourse with a Jew.” 

“ Now, in faith,” said Wamba, “ I cannot see that the 
45 


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Ivanhoe 


4 6 

worshipers of Mahound and Termagaunt have so greatly 
the advantage over the people once chosen of Heaven.” 

“He shall sit with thee, Wamba,” said Cedric; “the 
fool and the knave will be well met.” 

5 “ The fool,” answered Wamba, raising the relics of a 

gammon of bacon, “ will take care to erect a bulwark i 
against the knave.” 

“ Hush,” said Cedric, “ for here he comes.” 

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing with 
10 fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep humility, a 
tall thin old man, who, however, had lost by the habit of 
stooping much of his actual height, approached the lower 
end of the board. His features, keen and regular, with an 
aquiline nose, and piercing black eyes; his high and 
15 wrinkled forehead, and long gray hair and beard, would 
have been considered as handsome, had they not been the 
marks of a physiognomy peculiar to a race which, during 
those dark ages, was alike detested by the credulous and 
prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by the greedy and 
20 rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps owing to that very 
hatred and persecution, had adopted a national character 
in which there was much, to say the least, mean and un- 
amiable. 

The Jew’s dress, which appeared to have suffered con- 
25 siderably from the storm, was a plain russet cloak of many 
folds, covering a dark purple tunic. He had large boots 
lined with fur, and a belt around his waist, which sus- 
tained a small knife, together with a case for writing ma- 
terials, but no weapon. He wore a high square yellow 
30 cap of a peculiar fashion, assigned to his nation to dis- 
tinguish them from Christians, and which he doffed with 
great humility at the door of the hall. 

The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric the 
Saxon was such as might have satisfied the most preju- • 
35 diced enemy of the tribes of Israel. Cedric himself coldly 
nodded in answer to the Jew’s repeated salutations, and 
signed to him to take place at the lower end of the table, 
where, however, no one offered to make room for him. 
On the contrary, as he passed along the file, casting a 


Ivanhoe 


47 

timid, supplicating glance, and turning towards each of 
those who occupied the lower end of the board, the Saxon 
domestics squared their shoulders, and continued to devour 
their supper with great perseverance, paying not the least 
attention to the wants of the new guest. The attendants 
of the Abbot crossed themselves, with looks of pious hor- 
ror, and the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near 
them, curled up their whiskers with indignation, and laid 
their hands on their poniards, as if ready to rid themselves 
by the most desperate means from the apprehended con- 
tamination of his nearer approach. 

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric to 
open his hall to this son of a rejected people would have 
made him insist on his attendants receiving Isaac with 
more courtesy ; but the Abbot had at this moment engaged 
him in a most interesting discussion on the breed and 
character of his favorite hounds, which he would not 
have interrupted for matters of much greater importance 
than that of a Jew going to bed supperless. While Isaac 
thus stood an outcast in the present society, like his peo- 
ple among the nations, looking in vain for welcome or 
resting-place, the Pilgrim, who sat by the chimney, took 
compassion upon him, and resigned his seat, saying briefly, 
“ Old man, my garments are dried, my hunger is appeased ; 
thou art both wet and fasting.” So saying he gathered 
together and brought to a flame the decaying brands which 
lay scattered on the ample hearth; took from the larger 
board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, placed it upon 
the small table at which he had himself supped, and, with- 
out waiting the Jew’s thanks, went to the other side of 
the hall, whether from unwillingness to hold more close 
communication with the object of his benevolence, or from 
a wish to draw near to the upper end of the table, seemed 
uncertain. 

Had there been painters in those days capable to exe- 
cute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his withered 
form and expanded his chilled and trembling hands over 
the fire, would have formed no bad emblematical per- 
sonification of the Winter season. Having dispelled the 


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Ivanhoe 


48 

cold, he turned eagerly to the smoking mess which was 
placed before him, and ate with a haste and an apparent 
relish that seemed to betoken long abstinence from food. 

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their dis- 
5 course upon hunting; the Lady Rowena seemed engaged 
in conversation with one of her attendant females ; and 
the haughty Templar, whose eye seemed to wander from 
the Jew to the Saxon beauty, revolved in his mind thoughts 
which appeared deeply to interest him. 

10 “ I marvel, worthy Cedric,” said the Abbot, as their 

discourse proceeded, “ that, great as your predilection is 
for your own manly language, you do not receive the 
Norman-French into your favor, .so far at least as the 
mystery of woodcraft and hunting is concerned. Surely 
15 no tongue is so rich in the various phrases which the 
field-sports demand, or furnishes means to the experi- 
enced woodman so well to express his jovial art.” 

“ Good Father Aymer,” said the Saxon, “ be it known 
to you, I care not for those over-sea refinements, with- 
20 out which I can well enough take my pleasure in the 
woods. I can wind my horn, though I call not the blast 
either a recheat or a mort; I can cheer my dogs on the 
prey, and I can flay and quarter the animal when it is 
brought down, without using the new-fangled jargon of 
25 curee, arbor , nombles, and all the babble of the fabulous 
Sir Tristrem.” 

“ The French,” said the Templar, raising his voice with 
the presumptuous and authoritative tone which he used 
upon all occasions, “ is not only the natural language of 
30 the chase, but that of love and of war, in which ladies 
should be won and enemies defied.” 

“ Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,” said 
Cedric, “ and fill another to the Abbot, while I look 
back some thirty years to tell you another tale. As 
35 Cedric the Saxon then was, his plain English tale needed 
no garnish from French troubadours when it was told 
in the ear of beauty; and the field of Northallerton, upon 
the day of the Holy Standard, could tell whether the 
Saxon war-cry was not heard as far within the ranks 


Ivanhoe 49 

of the Scottish host as the cri de guerre of the boldest 
Norman baron. To the memory of the brave who fought 
| there! Pledge me, my guests.” He drank deep, and 
j went on with increasing warmth — “ Ay, that was a day 
i of cleaving of shields, when a hundred banners were bent 
forward over the heads of the valiant, and blood flowed 
round like water, and death was held better than flight. 
A Saxon bard had called it a feast of the swords — 
a gathering of the eagles to the prey — the clashing of 
bills upon shield and helmet, the shouting of battle more 
joyful than the clamor of a bridal. But our bards are 
I no more,” he said; “our deeds are lost in those of an- 
! other race ; our language — our very name — is hasten- 
ing to decay, and none - mourns for it save one solitary 
I old man. Cupbearer ! knave, fill the goblets. To the 
j strong in arms. Sir Templar, be their race or language 
what it will, who now bear them best in Palestine among 
the champions of the Cross ! ” 

“ It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,” 
said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert; “yet to whom, besides 
the sworn champion of the Holy Sepulcher, can the 
| palm be assigned among the champions of the Cross ? ” 
“To the Knights Hospitallers,” said the Abbot; “I 
have a brother of their order.” 

“I impeach not their fame,” said the Templar; “never- 
theless — ” 

“ I think, friend Cedric,” said Wamba, interfering, 
“ that had Richard of the Lion’s Heart been wise enough 
to have taken a fool’s advice, he might have stayed at 
home with his merry Englishmen, and left the recovery 
of Jerusalem to those same Knights who had most to do 
with the loss of it.” 

“ Were there, then, none in the English army,” said 
the Lady Rowena, “ whose names are worthy to be men- 
tioned with the Knights of the Temple and of St. John ? ” 
“Forgive me, lady,” replied De Bois-Guilbert; “the 
English monarch did indeed bring to Palestine a host of 
gallant warriors, second only to those whose breasts have 
been the unceasing bulwark of that blessed land.” 


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50 Ivanhoe 

“ Second to none/’ said the Pilgrim, who had stood 
near enough to hear, and had listened to this conversa- 
tion with marked impatience. All turned towards the 
spot from whence this unexpected asseveration was heard. 
5 “I say,” repeated the Pilgrim in a firm and strong voice, 
“ that the English chivalry were second to none who 
ever drew sword in defense of the Holy Land. I say be- 
sides, for I saw it, that King Richard himself, and five 
of his knights, held a tournament after the taking of 
10 S’t. John-de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. I 
say that, on that day, each knight ran three courses, and 
cast to the ground three antagonists. I add, that seven 
of these assailants were Knights of the Temple; and 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert well knows the truth of what 
15 I tell you.” 

It is impossible for language to describe the bitter 
scowl of rage which rendered yet darker the swarthy 
countenance of the Templar. In the extremity of his 
resentment and confusion, his quivering fingers griped 
20 towards the handle of his sword, and perhaps only with- 
drew from the consciousness that no act of violence could 
be safely executed in that place and presence. Cedric, 
whose feelings were all of a right onward and simple 
kind, and were seldom occupied by more than one object 
25 at once, omitted, in the joyous glee with which he heard 
of the glory of his countrymen, to remark the angry con- 
fusion of his guest. “ I would give thee this golden 
bracelet, Pilgrim,” he said, “ couldst thou tell me the 
names of those knights who upheld so gallantly the re- 
30 nown of merry England.” 

“ That will I do blithely,” replied the Pilgrim, “ and 
without guerdon; my oath, for a time, prohibits me from 
touching gold.” 

“ I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend 
35 Palmer,” said Wamba. 

“ The first in honor as in arms, in renown as in place,” 
said the Pilgrim, “ was the brave Richard, King of Eng- 
land.” 


Ivanhoe 


5i 

“I forgive him/’ said Cedric — “I forgive him his de- 
scent from the tyrant Duke William.” 

“ The Earl of Leicester was the second,” continued the 
Pilgrim. “ Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the 
third.” 

“ Of Saxon descent, he at least,” said Cedric, with ex- 
ultation. 

“ Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,” proceeded the Pilgrim. 

“ Saxon also, at least by the mother’s side,” continued 
Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness, and for- 
got, in part at least, his hatred to the Normans in the 
common triumph of the King of England and his islanders. 
“ And who was the fifth ? ” he demanded. 

“ The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.” 

“ Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist ! ” shouted 
Cedric. “ And the sixth ? ” he continued with eagerness 
— “ how name you the sixth ? ” 

“ The sixth,” said the Palmer, after a pause, in which 
he seemed to recollect himself, “ was a young knight of 
lesser renown and lower rank, assumed into that hon- 
orable company less to aid their enterprise than to make 
up their number; his name dwells not in my memory.” 

“ Sir Palmer,” said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, scorn- 
fully, “ this assumed forgetfulness, after so much has been 
remembered, comes too late to serve your purpose. I 
will myself tell the name of the knight before whose lance 
fortune and my horse’s fault occasioned my falling: it 
was the Knight of Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six 
that, for his years, had more renown in arms. Yet this 
will I say, and loudly — that were he in England, and 
durst repeat, in this week’s tournament, the challenge of 
St. John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as I now am, 
would give him every advantage of weapons, and abide 
the result.” 

“ Your challenge would be soon answered,” replied 
the Palmer, “ were your antagonist near you. As the 
matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall with vaunts of 
the issue of a conflict which you well know cannot take 


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place. If Ivanhoe ever returns from Palestine, I will 
be his surety that he meets you.” 

“A goodly security!” said the Knight Templar; “and 
what do you proffer as a pledge ? ” 

5 “ This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small ivory 

box from his bosom, and crossing himself, “ containing 
a portion of the true cross, brought from the monastery 
of Mount Carmel.” 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a 
10 paternoster, in which all devoutly joined, excepting the 
Jew, the Mahomedans, and the Templar; the latter of 
whom, without veiling his bonnet or testifying any rever- 
ence for the alleged sanctity of the relic, took from his 
neck a gold chain, which he flung on the board, saying, 
15 “ Let Prior Aymer hold my pledge and that of this name- 
less vagrant, in token that, when the Knight of Ivanhoe 
comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies the 
challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answer 
not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the walls of every 
20 Temple court in Europe.” 

“ It will not need,” said the Lady Rowena, breaking 
silence : “ my voice shall be heard, if no other in this 
hall is raised, in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm 
he will meet fairly every honorable challenge. Could 
25 my weak warrant add security to the inestimable pledge 
of this holy pilgrim, I would pledge name and fame that 
Ivanhoe gives this proud knight the meeting he desires.” 

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have oc- 
cupied Cedric and kept him silent during this discussion. 
30 Gratified pride, resentment, embarrassment, chased each 
other over his broad and open brow, like the shadow 
of clouds drifting over a harvest-field; while his at- 
tendants, on whom the name of the sixth knight seemed 
to produce an effect almost electrical, hung in suspense 
35 upon their master’s looks. But when Rowena spoke, the 
sound of her voice seemed to startle him from his silence. 

“ Lady,” said Cedric, “ this beseems not ; were further 
pledge necessary, I myself, offended, and justly offended, 


Ivanhoe 


53 

as I am, would yet gauge my honor for the honor of 
Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle is complete, even ac- 
cording to the fantastic fashions of Norman chivalry. 
Is it not, Father Aymer?” 

“ It is,” replied the Prior ; “ and the blessed relic and 
rich chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of our 
convent, until the decision of this warlike challenge.” 

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and 
again, and after many genuflections and muttered prayers, 
he delivered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose, his at- 
tendant monk, while he himself swept up with less cere- 
mony, but perhaps with no less internal satisfaction, the 
golden chain, and bestowed it in a pouch lined with per- 
fumed leather, which opened under his arm. “ And now, 
Sir Cedric,” he said, “ my ears are chiming vespers with 
the strength of your good wine: permit us another pledge 
to the welfare of the Lady Rowena, and indulge us with 
liberty to pass to our repose.” 

“ By the rood of Bromholme,” said the Saxon, “ you 
do but small credit to your fame. Sir Prior ! Report 
speaks you a bonny monk, that would hear the matin 
chime ere he quitted his bowl ; and, old as I am, I feared 
to have shame in encountering you. But, by my faith, 
a Saxon boy of twelve, in my time, would not so soon 
have relinquished his goblet.” 

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persever- 
ing in the course of temperance which he had adopted. 
He was not only a professional peacemaker, but from 
practice a hater of all feuds and brawls. It was not al- 
together from a love to his neighbor, or to himself, or 
from a mixture of both. On the present occasion, he 
had an instinctive apprehension of the fiery temper of 
the Saxon, and saw the danger that the reckless and 
presumptuous spirit of which his co'mpanion had already 
given so many proofs might at length produce some dis- 
agreeable explosion. He therefore gently insinuated the 
incapacity of the native of any other country to engage 
in the genial conflict of the bowl with the hardy and 


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strong-headed Saxons; something he mentioned, but 
slightly, about his own holy character, and ended by 
pressing his proposal to depart to repose. 

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and the 
5 guests, after making deep obeisance to their landlord and 
to the Lady Rowena, arose and mingled in the hall, while 
the heads of the family, by separate doors, retired with 
their attendants. 

“Unbelieving dog," said the Templar to Isaac the Jew, 
10 as he passed him in the throng, “ dost thou bend thy 
course to the tournament ? ” 

“ I do so propose/' replied Isaac, bowing in all humil- 
ity, “ if it please your reverend valor." 

“ Aye," said the Knight, “ to gnaw the bowels of our 
15 nobles with usury, and to gull women and boys with 
gauds and toys: I warrant thee store of shekels in thy 
Jewish scrip." 

“ Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling, so 
help me the God of Abraham ! " said the Jew, clasping his 
20 hands. “ I go but to seek the assistance of some brethren 
of my tribe to aid me to pay the fine which the Exchequer 
of the Jews have imposed upon me, Father Jacob be 
my speed ! I am an impoverished wretch : the very 
gaberdine I wear is borrowed from Reuben of Tadcaster." 
25 The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, “ Beshrew 
thee for a false-hearted liar ! " and passing onward, as if 
disdaining farther conference, he communed with his 
Moslem slaves in a language unknown to the bystanders. 
The poor Israelite seemed so staggered by the address of 
30 the military monk, that the Templar had passed on to 
the extremity of the hall ere he raised his head from the 
humble posture which he had assumed, so far as to 
be sensible of his departure. And when he did look 
around, it was with' the astonished air of one at whose 
35 feet a thunderbolt has just burst, and who hears still 
the astounding report ringing in his ears. 

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshaled 
to their sleeping apartments by the steward and the cup- 


Ivanhoe 


55 

bearer, each attended by two torch-bearers and two serv- 
ants carrying refreshments, while servants of inferior con- 
dition indicated to their retinue and to the other guests 
their respective places of repose. 


CHAPTER VI 


To buy his favour I extend this friendship : 

If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Merchant of Venice. 

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, passed 
through the intricate combination of apartments of this 
large and irregular mansion, the cupbearer, coming be- 
hind him, whispered in his ear, that if he had no objection 
5 to a cup of good mead in his apartment, there were many 
domestics in that family who would gladly hear the news 
he had brought from the Holy Land, and particularly that 
which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba pres- 
ently appeared to urge the same request, observing that 
10 a cup after midnight was worth three after curfew. With- 
out disputing a maxim urged by such grave authority, 
the Palmer thanked them for their courtesy, but observed 
that he had included in his religious vow an obligation 
never to speak in the kitchen on matters which were 
15 prohibited in the hall. 

“ That vow,” said Wamba to the cupbearer, “ would 
scarce suit a serving-man.” 

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeas- 
ure. “ I thought to have lodged him in the solere cham- 
20 ber,” said he; “but since he is so unsocial to Christians, 
e’en let him take the next stall to Isaac the Jew’s. An- 
wold,” said he to the torchbearer, “ carry the Pilgrim 
to the southern cell. I give you good-night,” he added, 
“ Sir Palmer, with small thanks for short courtesy.” 

25 “ Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison ! ” said the Pal- 

mer, with composure ; and his guide moved forward. 

In a small ante-chamber, into which several doors 
56 


Ivanhoe 


57 

opened, and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they 
met a second interruption from the waiting-maid of 
Rowena, who, saying in a tone of authority that her 
mistress desired to speak with the Palmer, took the torch 
from the hand of Anwold, and, bidding him await her 
return, made a sign to the Palmer to follow. Apparently 
he did not think it proper to decline this invitation as he 
had done the former; for, though his gesture indicated 
some surprise at the summons, he obeyed it without an- 
swer or remonstrance. 

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of 
which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to 
the apartment of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnificence 
of which corresponded to the respect which was paid to 
her by the lord of the mansion. The walls were covered 
with embroidered hangings, on which different-colored 
silks, interwoven with gold and silver threads, had been 
employed, with all the art of which the age was capable, 
to represent the sports of hunting and hawking. The 
bed was adorned with the same rich tapestry, and sur- 
rounded with curtains dyed with purple. The seats had 
also their stained coverings, and one, which was higher 
than the rest, was accommodated with a footstool of 
ivory, curiously carved. 

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great 
waxen torches, served to illuminate this apartment. Yet 
let not modern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon 
princess. The walls of the apartment were so ill finished 
and so full of crevices, that the rich hangings shook to 
the night blast, and, in despite of a sort of screen intended 
to protect them from the wind, the flame of the torches 
streamed sideways into the air, like the unfurled pennon 
of a chieftain. Magnificence there was, with some rude 
attempt at taste; but of comfort there was little, and, 
being unknown, it was unmissed. 

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants stand- 
ing at her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay 
down to rest, was seated in the sort of throne already 
mentioned, and looked as if born to exact general homage. 


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58 Ivanhoe 

The Pilgrim acknowledged her claim to it by a low genu- 
flection. 

“ Rise, Palmer,” said she graciously. “ The defender 
of the absent has a right to favorable reception from all 
5 who value truth and honor manhood.” She then said 
to her train, “ Retire, excepting only Elgitha ; I would 
speak with this holy Pilgrim.” 

The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired 
to its further extremity, and sat down on a small bench 
10 against the wall, where they remained mute as statues, 
though at such a distance that their whispers could not 
have interrupted the conversation of their mistress. 

“ Pilgrim,” said the lady, after a moment’s pause, during 
which she seemed uncertain how to address him, “ you this 
15 night mentioned a name — I mean,” she said with a de- 
gree of effort, “ the name of Ivanhoe — in the halls where 
by nature and kindred it should have sounded most ac- 
ceptably; and yet such is the perverse course of fate, 
that of many whose hearts must have throbbed at the 
20 sound, I only dare ask you where, and in what condi- 
tion, you left him of whom you spoke? We heard that, 
having remained in Palestine, on account of his impaired 
health, after the departure of the English army, he had 
experienced the persecution of the French faction, to 
25 whom the Templars are known to be attached.” 

“ I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered 
the Palmer, with a troubled voice. “ I would I knew him 
better, since you, lady, are interested in his fate. He 
hath, I believe, surmounted the persecution of his enemies 
30 in Palestine, and is on the eve of returning to England, 
where you, lady, must know better than I what is his 
chance of happiness.” 

The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more par- 
ticularly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected 
35 in his native country, and whether he would not be ex- 
posed to great dangers by the road. On the first point, 
the Palmer professed ignorance; on the second, he said 
that the voyage might be safely made by the way of 
Venice and Genoa, and from thence through France to 


Ivanhoe 


59 

England. “ Ivanhoe,” he said, “ was so well acquainted 
with the language and manners of the French, that there 
was no fear of his incurring any hazard during that part 
of his travels.” 

“ Would to God,” said the Lady Rowena, “ he were 
here safely arrived, and able to bear arms in the approach- 
ing tourney, in which the chivalry of this land are ex- 
pected to display their address and valor. Should Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is like 
to hear evil tidings when he reaches England. How 
looked he, stranger, when you last saw him ? Had disease 
laid her hand heavy upon his strength and comeliness ? ” 

“ He was darker,” said the Palmer, “ and thinner than 
when he came from Cyprus in the train of Coeur-de-Lion, 
and care seemed to sit heavy on his brow; but I ap- 
proached not his presence, because he is unknown to me.” 

“ He will,” said the lady, “ I fear, find little in his native 
land to clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, 
good Pilgrim, for your information concerning the com- 
panion of my childhood. Maidens,” she said, “ draw near : 
offer the sleeping-cup to this holy man, whom I will no 
longer detain from repose.” 

One of the maidens presented a silver cup containing 
a rich mixture of wine and spice, which Rowena barely 
put to her lips. It was then offered to the Palmer, who, 
after a low obeisance, tasted a few drops. 

“ Accept this alms, friend,” continued the lady, offer- 
ing a piece of gold, “ in acknowledgment of thy painful 
travail, and of the shrines thou hast visited.” 

The Palmer received the boon with another low rever- 
ence, and followed Elgitha out of the apartment. 

In the ante-room he found his attendant Anwold, who, 
taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-maid, 
conducted him with more haste than ceremony to an 
exterior and ignoble part of the building, where a num- 
ber of small apartments, or rather cells, served for sleep- 
ing-places to the lower order of domestics, and to 
strangers of mean degree. 

“In which of these sleeps the Jew?” said the Pilgrim. 


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“ The unbelieving dog,” answered Anwold, “ kennels 
in the cell next your holiness. St. Dunstan, how it must 
be scraped and cleansed ere it be again fit for a Chris- 
tian ! ” 

5 “ And where sleeps Gurth, the swineherd ? ” said the 

stranger. 

“ Gurth,” replied the bondsman, “ sleeps in the cell on 
your right, as the Jew in that to your left; you serve to 
keep the child of circumcision separate from the abomi- 
10 nation of his tribe. You might have occupied a more hon- 
orable place had you accepted of Oswald’s invitation.” 

“ It is as well as it is,” said the Palmer ; “ the com- 
pany, even of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination 
through an oaken partition.” 

15 So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and 
taking the torch from the domestic’s hand, thanked him 
and wished him good-night. Having shut the door of 
his cell, he placed the torch in a candlestick made of 
wood, and looked around his sleeping apartment, the fur- 
20 niture of which was of the most simple kind. It con- 
sisted of a rude wooden stool, and still ruder hutch or 
bed-frame, stuffed with clean straw, and accommodated 
with two or three sheepskins by way of bed-clothes. 

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw him- 
25 self, without taking off any part of his clothes, on this 
rude couch, and slept, or at least retained his recumbent 
posture, till the earliest sunbeams found their way through 
the little grated window, which served at once to admit 
both air and light to his uncomfortable cell. He then 
30 started up, and after repeating his matins and adjusting 
his dress he left it, and entered that of Isaac the Jew, 
lifting the latch as gently as he could. 

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a couch 
similar to that on which the Palmer himself had passed 
35 the night. Such parts of his dress as the Jew had laid 
aside on the preceding evening were disposed carefully 
around his person, as if to prevent the hazard of their 
being carried off during his slumbers. There was a 
trouble on his brow amounting almost to agony. His 


Ivanhoe 


61 


hands and arms moved convulsively, as if struggling with 
the nightmare; and besides several ejaculations in Hebrew, 
the following were distinctly heard in the Norman-Eng- 
lish, or mixed language of the country: “For the sake 
of the God of Abraham, spare an unhappy old man ! I 
am poor, I am penniless; should your irons wrench my 
limbs asunder, I could not gratify you ! ” 

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s vision, 
but stirred him with his pilgrim’s staff. The touch prob- 
ably associated, as is usual, with some of the apprehen- 
sions excited by his dream; for the old man started up, 
his gray hair standing almost erect upon his head, and 
huddling some part of his garments about him, while 
he held the detached pieces with the tenacious grasp of 
a falcon, he fixed upon the Palmer his keen black eyes, 
expressive of wild surprise and of bodily apprehension. 

“ Fear nothing from me, Isaac,” said the Palmer, “ I 
come as your friend.” 

“ The God of Israel requite you,” said the Jew, greatly 
relieved; “I dreamed — but Father Abraham be praised, 
it was but a dream ! ” Then, collecting himself, he added 
in his usual tone, “ And what may it be your pleasure to 
want at so early an hour with the poor Jew?” 

“ It is to tell you,” said the Palmer, “ that if you leave 
not this mansion instantly, and travel not with some haste, 
your journey may prove a dangerous one.” 

“ Holy father ! ” said the Jew, “ whom could it interest 
to endanger so poor a wretch as I am ? ” 

“ The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pilgrim ; 
“ but rely on this, that when the Templar crossed the hall 
yesternight, he spoke to his Mussulman slaves in the 
Saracen language, which I well understand, and charged 
them this morning to watch the journey of the Jew, to 
seize upon him when at a convenient distance from the 
mansion, and to conduct him to the castle of Philip de 
Malvoisin or to that of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf.” 

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror 
which seized upon the Jew at this information, and seemed 
at once to overpower his whole faculties. His arms fell 


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Ivanhoe 


down to his sides, and his head drooped on his breast, 
his knees bent under his weight, every nerve and muscle 
of his frame seemed to collapse and lose its energy, and 
he sunk at the foot of the Palmer, not in the fashion of one 
5 who intentionally stoops, kneels, or prostrates himself to 
excite compassion, but like a man borne down on all sides 
by the pressure of some invisible force, which crushes 
him to the earth without the power of resistance. 

“ Holy God of Abraham ! ” was his first exclamation, 
10 folding and elevating his wrinkled hands, but without 
raising his gray head from the pavement ; “ O holy 
Moses ! O blessed Aaron ! the dream is not dreamed for 
nought, and the vision cometh not in vain ! I feel their 
irons already tear my sinews ! I feel the rack pass over 
15 my body like the saws, and harrows, and axes of iron 
over the men of Rabbah, and of the cities of the children 
of Ammon ! ” 

“ Stand up, Isaac, and harken to me,” said the Palmer, 
who viewed the extremity of his distress with a com- 
20 passion in which contempt was largely mingled ; “ you 
have cause for your terror, considering how your brethren 
have been used, in order to extort from them their hoards, 
both by princes and nobles; but stand up, I say, and I 
will point out to you the means of escape. Leave this 
25 mansion instantly, while its inmates sleep sound after 
the last night’s revel. I will guide you by the secret 
paths of the forest, known as well to me as to any for- 
ester that ranges it, and I will not leave you till you are 
under safe conduct of some chief or baron going to the 
30 tournament, whose good-will you have probably the means 
of securing.” 

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which 
this speech intimated, be began gradually, and inch by 
inch, as it were, to raise himself up from the ground, 
35 until he fairly rested upon his knees, throwing back his 
long gray hair and beard, and fixing his keen black eyes 
upon the Palmer’s face, with a look expressive at once of 
hope and fear, not unmingled with suspicion. But when 
he heard the concluding part of the sentence, his original 


Ivanhoe 


63 

terror appeared to revive in full force, and he dropped once 
more on his face, exclaiming, “ 1 possess the means of 
securing good-will! Alas! there is but one road to the 
favor of a Christian, and how can the poor Jew find it, 
whom extortions have already reduced to the misery of 
Lazarus ? ” Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his 
other feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, “ For the love of 
God, young man, betray me not ; for the sake of the Great 
Father who made us all, Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite 
and Ishmaelite, do me no treason ! I have not means to 
secure the good-will of a Christian beggar, were he rat- 
ing it at a single penny.” As he spoke these last words, 
he raised himself and grasped the Palmer’s mantle with 
a look of the most earnest entreaty. The Pilgrim ex- 
tricated himself, as if there were contamination in the 
touch. 

“ Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,” 
he said, “what interest have I to injure thee? In this 
dress I am vowed to poverty, nor do I change it for aught 
save , a horse and a coat of mail. Yet think not that I 
care for thy company, or propose myself advantage by 
it ; remain here if thou wilt, Cedric the Saxon may protect 
thee.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the Jew, “ he will not let me travel in 
his train. Saxon or Norman will be equally ashamed of 
the poor Israelite; and to travel by myself through the 
domains of Philip de Malvoisin and Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf — Good youth, I will go with you ! Let us 
haste — let us gird up our loins — let us flee ! Here is 
thy staff, why wilt thou tarry ? ” 

“ I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the 
urgency of his companion ; “ but I must secure the means 
of leaving this place; follow me.” 

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the 
reader is apprised, was occupied by ¥ Gurth, the swine- 
herd., “Arise, Gurth,” said the Pilgrim — “arise quickly. 
Undo the postern gate, and let out the Jew and me.” 

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, 
gave him as much consequence in Saxon England as that 


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of Eumseus in Ithaca, was offended at the familiar and 
commanding tone assumed by the Palmer. “ The Jew 
leaving Rotherwood,” said he, raising himself on his el- 
bow and looking superciliously at him, without quitting 
5 his pallet, “ and traveling in company with the Palmer to 
boot ” 

“ I should as soon have dreamt/’ said Wamba, who en- 
tered the apartment at the instant, “ of his stealing away 
with a gammon of bacon.” 

10 “ Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his head 

on the wooden log which served him for a pillow, “ both 
Jew and Gentile must be content to abide the opening 
of the great gate; we suffer no visitors to depart by 
stealth at these unseasonable hours.” 

15 “ Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding 

tone, “ you will not, I think, refuse me that favor.” 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent 
swineherd, and whispered something in his ear in Saxon. 
Gurth started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, raising 
20 his finger in an attitude as if to express caution, added, 
“ Gurth, beware ; thou art wont to be prudent. I say, 
undo the postern; thou shalt know more anon.” 

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba 
and the Jew followed, both wondering at the sudden 
25 change in the swineherd’s demeanor. 

“ My mule — my mule! ” said the Jew, as soon as they 
stood without the postern. 

“ Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim ; “ and, hearest 
thou, let me have another, that I may bear him company 
30 till he is beyond these parts. I will return it safely to 
some of Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do thou — ” he 
whispered the rest in Gurth’s ear. 

“Willingly — most willingly shall it be done,” said 
Gurth, and instantly departed to execute the commission. 
35 “ I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s 

back was turned, “ what you Palmers learn in the Holy 
Land.” 

“ To say our orisons, fool,” answered the Pilgrim, “ to 


Ivanhoe 65 

repent our sins, and to mortify, ourselves with fastings, 
vigils, and long prayers.” 

“ Something more potent than that,” answered the 
Jester; “for when would repentance or prayer make 
Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him to 
lend you a mule? I trow you might as well have told 
his favorite black boar of thy vigils and penance, and 
wouldst have gotten as civil an answer.” 

“ Go to,” said the Pilgrim, “ thou art but a Saxon fool.” 

“Thou sayst well,” said the Jester; “had I been born 
a Norman, as I think thou art, I would have had luck 
on my side, and been next door to a wise man.” 

At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side 
of the moat with the mules. The travelers crossed the 
ditch upon a drawbridge of only two planks’ breadth, the 
narrowness of which was matched with the straitness 
of the postern, and with a little wicket in the exterior 
palisade, which gave access to the forest. No sooner 
had they reached the mules, than the Jew, with hasty and 
trembling hands, secured behind the saddle a small bag 
of blue buckram, wliich he took from under his cloak, 
containing, as he muttered, “ a change of raiment — only 
a change of raiment.” Then getting upon the animal with 
'more alacrity and haste than could have been anticipated 
from his years, he lost no time in so disposing of the 
skirts of his gaberdine as to conceal completely from 
observation the burden which he had thus deposited 
en croupe. 

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reach- 
ing, as he departed, his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with 
the utmost possible veneration. The swineherd stood 
gazing after the travelers until they were lost under the 
boughs of the forest path, when he was disturbed from 
his reverie by the voice of Wamba. 

“ Knowest thou,” said the Jester, “ my good friend 
Gurth, that thou art strangely courteous and most un- 
wontedly pious on this summer morning? I would I 
were a black prior or a barefoot palmer, to avail myself 


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of thy unwonted zeal and courtesy; certes, I would make 
more out of it than a kiss of the hand.” 

“ Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,” answered Gurth, 
“ though thou arguest from appearances, and the wisest 
5 of us can do no more. But it is time to look after my 
charge.” 

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by 
the Jester. 

Meanwhile the travelers continued to press on their 
10 journey with a despatch which argued the extremity of 
the Jew’s fears, since persons at his age are seldom fond 
of rapid motion. The Palmer, to whom every path and 
outlet in the wood appeared to be familiar, led the way 
through the most devious paths, and more than once 
15 excited anew the suspicion of the Israelite that he in- 
tended to betray him into some ambuscade of his enemies. 

His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, ex- 
cept perhaps the flying fish, there was no race existing 
on the earth, in the air, or the waters, who were the 
20 object of such an unintermitting, general, and relentless 
persecution as the Jews of this period. Upon the slight- 
est and most unreasonable pretenses, as well as upon 
accusations the most absurd and groundless, their persons 
and property were exposed to every turn of popular fury; 
25 for Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, however adverse 
these races were to each other, contended which should 
look with greatest detestation upon a people whom it was 
accounted a point of religion to hate, to revile, to despise, 
to plunder, and to persecute. The kings of the Norman 
30 race, and the independent nobles, who followed their 
example in all acts of tyranny, maintained against this 
devoted people a persecution of a more regular, cal- 
culated, and self-interested kind. It is a well-known 
story of King John, that he confined a wealthy Jew in 
35 one of the royal castles, and daily caused one of his 
teeth to be torn out, until, when the jaw of the unhappy 
Israelite was half disfurnished, he consented to pay a 
large sum, which it was the tyrant’s object to extort 
from him. The little ready money which was in the 


Ivanhoe 67 

country was chiefly in possession of this persecuted 
people, and the nobility hesitated not to follow the ex- 
ample of their sovereign in wringing it from them by 
every species of oppression, and even personal torture. 
Yet the passive courage inspired by the love of gain 
induced the Jews to dare the various evils to which they 
were subjected, in consideration of the immense profits 
which they were enabled to realize in a country naturally 
so wealthy as England. In spite of every kind of dis- 
couragement, and even of the special court of taxations 
already mentioned, called the Jews’ Exchequer, erected 
for the very purpose of despoiling and distressing them, 
the Jews increased, multiplied, and accumulated huge 
sums, which they transferred from one hand to another 
by means of bills of exchange — an invention for which 
commerce is said to be indebted to them, and which en- 
abled them to transfer their wealth from land to land, 
that, when threatened with oppression in one country, 
their treasure might be secured in another. 

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in 
a measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and 
tyranny of those under whom they lived,, seemed to in- 
crease in proportion to the persecution with which they 
were visited; and the immense wealth they usually ac- 
quired in commerce, while it frequently placed them in 
danger, was at other times used to extend their influence, 
and to secure to them a certain degree of protection. 
On these terms they lived; and their character, influ- 
enced accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid — 
yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skillful in evading the 
dangers to which they were exposed. 

When the travelers had pushed on at a rapid rate 
through many devious paths, the Palmer at length broke 
silence. 

“ That large decayed oak,” he said, “ marks the bound- 
aries over which Front-de-Boeuf claims authority; we 
are long since far from those of Malvoisin. There is 
now no fear of pursuit.” 

“ May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,” said 


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Ivanhoe 


the Jew, “ like those of the host of Pharaoh, that they 
may drive heavily ! But leave me not, good Pilgrim. 
Think but of that fierce and savage Templar, with his 
Saracen slaves; they will regard neither territory, nor 
5 manor, nor lordship.” 

“ Our road,” said the Palmer, “ should here separate ; 
for it beseems not men of my character and thine to 
travel together longer than needs must be. Besides, 
what succor couldst thou have from me, a peaceful pil- 
10 grim, against two armed heathens ? ” 

“ O, good youth,” answered the Jew, “ thou canst de- 
fend me, and I know thou wouldst. Poor as I am, I 
will requite it; not with money, for money, so help me 
my Father Abraham ! I have none; but — ” 

15 “ Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, inter- 

rupting him, “ I have already said I require not of thee. 
Guide thee I can, and, it may be, even in some sort de- 
fend thee; since to protect a Jew against a Saracen can 
scarce be accounted unworthy of a Christian. There- 
20 fore, Jew, I will see thee safe under some fitting escort. 
We are now not far from the town of Sheffield, where 
thou mayest easily find many of thy tribe with whom to 
take refuge.” 

“ The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth ! ” 
25 said the Jew; “in Sheffield I can harbor with my kins- 
man Zareth, and find some means of traveling forth 
with safety.” 

“ Be it so,” said the Palmer ; “ at Sheffield then we 
part, and half an hour’s riding will bring us in sight of 
30 that town.” 

The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both 
parts; the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address the Jew, 
except in case of absolute necessity, and the Jew not 
presuming to force a conversation with a person whose 
35 journey to the Holy Sepulcher gave a sort of sanctity 
to his character. They paused on the top of a gently 
rising bank, and the Pilgrim, pointing to the town of 
Sheffield, whch lay beneath them, repeated the words, 
“ Here, then, we part.” 


Ivanhoe 


69 

“ Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” said 
Isaac ; “ for I presume not to ask you to go with me to 
my kinsman Zareth’s, who might aid me with some means 
of repaying your good offices.” 

“ I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, “ that 
I desire no recompense. If, among the huge list of thy 
debtors, thou wilt, for my sake, spare the gyves and the 
dungeon to some unhappy Christian who stands in thy 
danger, I shall hold this morning’s service to thee well 
bestowed.” 

“Stay — stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his gar- 
ment ; “ something would I do more than this — something 
for thyself. God knows the Jew is poor — yes, Isaac is 
the beggar of his tribe — but forgive me should I guess 
| what thou most lackest at this moment.” 

“ If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “ it is 
what thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou 
sayst thou art poor.” 

“ As I say ! ” echoed the Jew. “ O ! believe it, I say but 
the truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed man. 
Hard hands have wrung from me my goods, my money, 
my ships, and all that I possessed. Yet I can tell thee 
what thou lackest, and, it may be, supply it too. Thy 
wish even now is for a horse and armor.” 

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the 
Jew. “What fiend prompted that guess?” said he, 
hastily. 

“ No matter,” said the Jew, smiling, “ so that it be a 
true one ; and, as I can guess thy want, so I can supply it.” 

“ But consider,” said the Palmer, “ my character, my 
dress, my vow.” 

“ I know you Christians,” replied the Jew, “ and that 
the noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in super- 
stitious penance, and walk afoot to visit the graves of 
dead men.” 

“ Blaspheme not, Jew ! ” said the Pilgrim, sternly. 

“Forgive me,” said the Jew; “I spoke rashly. But 
there dropped words from you last night and this morn- 
ing that, like sparks from flint, showed the metal within; 


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Ivanhoe 


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and in the bosom of that Palmer’s gown is hidden a 
knight’s chain and spurs of gold. They glanced as you 
stooped over my bed in the morning.” 

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. “ Were thy 
5 garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,” said he, 

“ what discoveries might not be made ? ” 

“No more of that,” said the Jew, changing color; and 
drawing forth his writing materials in haste, as if to 
stop the conversation, he began to write upon a piece of 
10 paper which he supported on the top of his yellow cap, 
without dismounting from his mule. When he had fin- 
ished, he delivered the scroll, which was in the Hebrew 
character, to the Pilgrim, saying, “ In the town of Lei- 
cester all men know the rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam of 
15 Lombardy; give him this scroll. He hath on sale six 
Milan harnesses, the worst would suit a crowned head; j 
den goodly steeds, the worst might mount a king, were 
he to do battle for his throne. Of these he will give thee | 
thy choice, with everything else that can furnish thee 
20 forth for the tournament; when it is over, thou wilt re- j 
turn them safely — unless thou shouldst have wherewith ; 
to pay their value to the owner.” 

“ But, Isaac,” said the Pilgrim, smiling, “ dost thou know 
that in these sports the arms and steed of the knight who is 
25 unhorsed are forfeit to his victor? Now I may be un- 
fortunate, and so lose what I cannot replace or repay.” 

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this possibility; 
but collecting his courage, he replied hastily, “No — no 
— no. It is impossible — I will not think so. The 
30 blessing of Our Father will be upon thee. Thy lance will 
be powerful as the rod of Moses.” 

So saying, he was turning his mule’s head away, when 
the Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine. 

“ Nay, but, Isaac, thou knowest not all the risk. The . 
35 steed may be slain, the armor injured; for I will spare 
neither horse nor man. Besides, those of thy tribe give 
nothing for nothing; something there must be paid for 
their use.” 

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle like a man in 


Ivanhoe 


a fit of the colic; but his better feelings predominated 
over those which were most familiar to him. “ I care 
not,” he said — “ I care not ; let me go. If there is 
damage, it will cost you nothing; if there is usage money, 
Kirjath Jairam will forgive it for the sake of his kins- 5 
man Isaac. Fare thee well ! Yet, hark thee, good 
youth,” said he, turning about, “ thrust thyself not too 
forward into this vain hurly-burly: I speak not for en- 
dangering the steed and coat of armor, but for the sake 
of thine own life and limbs.” 10 

“ Gramercy for thy caution,” said the Palmer, again 
smiling; “I will use thy courtesy frankly, and it will go 
hard with me but I will requite it.” 

They parted, and took different roads for the town of 
Sheffield. 15 


CHAPTER VII 


Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 

In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires; 

One laced the helm, another held the lance, 

A third the shining buckler did advance. 

The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet, 

And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit. 

The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, 

Files in their hands and hammers at their side; 

And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields 
provide. 

The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands; 

And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their 
hands. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

The condition of the English nation was at this time 
sufficiently miserable. King Richard was absent a pris- 
oner, and in the power of the perfidious and cruel Duke 
of Austria. Even the very place of his captivity was un- 
5 certain, and his fate but very imperfectly known to the 
generality of his subjects, who were, in the meantime, a 
prey to every species of subaltern oppression. 

Prince John, in league with Philip of France, Coeur- 
de-Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of in- 
10 fluence with the ‘Duke of Austria to prolong the captivity 
of his brother Richard, to whom he stood indebted for 
so many favors. In the meantime, he was strengthening 
his own faction in the kingdom, of which he proposed to 
dispute the succession, in case of the King’s death, with 
’ 15 the legitimate heir, Arthur, Duke of Brittany, son of 
Geoffrey Plantagenet, the elder brother of John. This 
usurpation, it is well known, he afterwards effected. 
His own character being light, profligate, and perfidious, 
John easily attached to his person and faction not only 

72 


Ivanhoe 73 

all who had reason to dread the resentment of Richard 
for criminal proceedings during his absence, but also the 
numerous class of “ lawless resolutes ” whom the crusades 
had turned back on their country, accomplished in the 
vices of the East, impoverished in substance, and hard- 
ened in character, and who placed their hopes of harvest 
in civil commotion. 

To these causes of public distress and apprehension 
must be added the multitude of outlaws who, driven to 
despair by the oppression of the feudal nobility and the 
severe exercise of the forest laws, banded together in 
large gangs, and, keeping possession of the forests and 
the wastes, set at defiance the justice and magistracy of 
the country. The nobles themselves, each fortified within 
his own castle, and playing the petty sovereign over 
his own dominions, were the leaders of bands scarce less 
lawless and oppressive than those of the avowed depre- 
dators. To maintain these retainers, and to support the 
extravagance and magnificence which their pride in- 
duced them to affect, the nobility borrowed sums of 
money from the Jews at the most usurious interest, which 
gnawed into their estates like consuming cankers, scarce 
to be cured unless when circumstances gave them an 
opportunity of getting free by exercising upon their 
creditors some act of unprincipled violence. 

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy 
state of affairs, the people of England suffered deeply 
for the present, and had yet more dreadful cause to fear 
for the future. To augment their misery, a contagious 
disorder of a dangerous nature spread through the land; 
and, rendered more virulent by the uncleanness, the in- 
different food, and the wretched lodging of the lower 
classes, swept off many, whose fate the survivors were 
tempted to envy, as exempting them from the evils which 
were to come. 

Yet, amid these accumulated distresses, the poor as 
well as the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in the 
event of a tournament, which was the grand spectacle 
of that age, felt as much interested as the half-starved 


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Ivanhoe 


74 

citizen of Madrid, who has not a real left to buy pro- 
visions for his family, feels in the issue of a bull-fight. 
Neither duty nor infirmity could keep youth or age from 
such exhibitions. (The passage of arms, as it was called, 
5 which was to take place at Ashby, in the county of Lei- 
cester, as champions of the first renown were to take the 
field in the presence of Prince John himself, who was 
expected to grace the lists, had attracted universal at- 
tention, and an immense confluence of persons of all 
10 ranks hastened upon the appointed morning to the place 
of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of 
a wood, which approached to within a mile of the town 
of Ashby, was an extensive meadow of the finest and 
15 most beautiful green turf, surrounded on one side by the 
forest, and fringed on the other by straggling oak-trees, 
some of which had grown to an immense size. The 
ground, as if fashioned on purpose for the martial dis- 
play which was intended, sloped gradually down on all 
20 sides to a level bottom, which was inclosed for the lists 
with strong palisades, forming a space of a quarter of 
a mile in length, and about half as broad. The form of 
the inclosure was an oblong square, save that the corners 
were considerably rounded off, in order to afford more 
25 convenience for the spectators. The openings for the 
entry of the combatants were at the northern and south- 
ern extremities of the lists, accessible by strong wooden 
gates, each wide enough to admit two horsemen riding 
abreast. At each of these portals were stationed two 
30 heralds, attended by six trumpets, as many pursuivants, 
and a strong body of men-at-arms, for maintaining order, 
and ascertaining the quality of the knights who proposed 
to engage in this martial game. 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed 
35 by a natural elevation of the ground, were pitched five 
magnificent pavilions, adorned with pennons of russet 
and black, the chosen colors of the five knights challengers. 
The cords of the tents were of the same color. Before 
each pavilion was suspended the shield of the knight by 


Ivanhoe 


75 

whom it was occupied, and beside it stood his squire, 
quaintly disguised as a salvage or silvan man, or in some 
other fantastic dress, according to the taste of his master 
and the character he was pleased to assume during the 
game. The central pavilion, as the place of honor, had 
been assigned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose renown 
in all games of chivalry, no less than his connection with 
the knights who had undertaken this passage of arms, 
had occasioned him to be eagerly received into the com- 
pany of the challengers, and even adopted as their chief 
and leader, though he had so recently joined them. On 
one side of his tent were pitched those of Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf and Richard [Philip] de Malvoisin, and 
on the other was the pavilion of Hugh de Grantme|nil, a 
noble baron in the vicinity, whose ancestor had been 
Lord High Steward of England in the time of the Con- 
queror and his son William Rufus. Ralph de Vipont, 
a knight of St. John of Jerusalem, who had some an- 
cient possessions at a place called Heather, near Ashby- 
de-la-Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion. From the 
entrance into the lists a gently sloping passage, ten yards 
in breadth, led up to the platform on which the tents were 
pitched. It was strongly secured by a palisade on each 
side, as was the esplanade in front of the pavilions, and 
the whole was guarded by men-at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a similar 
-entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at the extremity of 
which was a large inclosed space for such knights as 
might be disposed to enter the lists with the challengers, 
behind which were placed tents containing refreshments 
of every kind for their accommodation, with armorers, 
farriers, and other attendants, in readiness to give their 
services wherever they might be necessary. 

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by tem- 
porary galleries, spread with tapestry and carpets, and 
accommodated with cushions for the convenience of 
those ladies and nobles who were expected to attend the 
tournament. A narrow space betwixt these galleries 
and the lists gave accommodation for yeomanry and 


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7 6 Ivanhoe 

spectators of a better degree than the mere vulgar, and 
might be compared to the pit of a theater. The pro- 
miscuous multitude arranged themselves upon large 
banks of turf prepared for the purpose, which, aided by 
5 the natural elevation of the ground, enabled them to over- 
look the galleries, and obtain a fair view into the lists. 
Besides the accommodation which these stations afforded, 
many hundreds had perched themselves on the branches 
of the trees which surrounded the meadow; and even the 
10 steeple of a country church, at some distance, was crowded 
with spectators. 

It only remains to notice respecting the general ar- 
rangement, that one gallery in the very center of the 
eastern side of the lists, and consequently exactly oppo- 
15 site to the spot where the shock of the combat was to 
take place, was raised higher than the others, more richly 
decorated, and graced by a sort of throne and canopy, 
on which the royal arms were emblazoned. Squires, 
pages, and yeomen in rich liveries waited around this 
20 place of honor, which was designed for Prince John and 
his attendants. Opposite to this royal gallery was an- 
other, elevated to the same height, on the western side 
of the lists; and more gayly, if less sumptuously, deco- 
rated than that destined for the Prince himself. A train 
25 of pages and of young maidens, the most beautiful who 
could be selected, gayly dressed in fancy habits of green 
and pink, surrounded a throne decorated in the same* 
colors. Among pennons and flags bearing wounded 
hearts, burning hearts, bleeding hearts, bows and quivers, 
30 and all the commonplace emblems of the triumphs of 
Cupid, a blazoned inscription informed the spectators that 
this seat of honor was designed for La Royne de la 
Beaulte et des Amours. But who was to represent the 
Queen of Beauty and of Love on the present occasion no 
35 one was prepared to guess. 

( Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged 
forward to occupy their respective stations, and not 
without many quarrels concerning those which they were 
entitled to hold. Some of these were settled by the men- 


Ivanhoe 


77 

at-arms with brief ceremony; the shafts of their battle- 
axes and pummels of their swords being readily employed 
as arguments to convince the more refractory. Others, 
which involved the rival claims of more elevated per- 
sons, were determined by the heralds, or by the two mar- 
shals of the field, William de Wyvil and Stephen de 
Martival, who, armed at all points, rode up and down 
the lists to enforce and preserve good order among the 
spectators. ) 

Gradually the galleries became filled with knights and 
nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and rich- 
tinted mantles were contrasted with the gayer and more 
splendid habits of the ladies, who, in a greater propor- 
tion than even the men themselves, thronged to witness 
a sport which one would have thought too bloody and 
dangerous to afford their sex much pleasure. The lower 
and interior space was soon filled by substantial yeomen 
and burghers, and such of the lesser gentry as, from 
modesty, poverty, or dubious title, durst not assume any 
higher place.^) It was of course amongst these that the 
most frequertt disputes for precedence occurred. 

“ Dog of an unbeliever, ” said an old man, whose thread- 
bare tunic bore witness to his poverty, as his sword, 
and dagger, and golden chain intimated his pretensions 
to rank — “ whelp of a she-wolf ! darest thou press upon 
a Christian, and a Norman gentleman of the blood of 
Montdidier ? ” 

This rough expostulation was addressed to no other 
than our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and even mag- 
nificently dressed in a gaberdine ornamented with lace 
and lined with fur, was endeavoring to make place in 
the foremost row beneath the gallery for his daughter, 
the beautiful Rebecca, who had joined him at Ashby, 
and who was now hanging on her father’s arm, not a 
little terrified by the popular displeasure which seemed 
generally excited by her parent’s presumption. But 
Isaac, though we have seen him sufficiently timid on 
other occasions, knew well that at present he had noth- 
ing to fear. It was not in places of general resort, or 


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Ivanhoe 


78 

where their equals were assembled that any avaricious 
or malevolent noble durst offer him injury. At such 
meetings the Jews were under the protection of the gen- 
eral law; and if that proved a weak assurance, it usually 
5 happened that there were among the persons assembled 
some barons who, for their own interested motives, were 
ready to act as their protectors. On the present occa- 
sion, Isaac felt more than usually confident, being aware 
that Prince John was even then in the very act of ne- 
10 gotiating a large loan from the Jews of York, to be se- 
cured upon certain jewels and lands. Isaac’s own share 
in this transaction was considerable, and he well knew 
that the Prince’s eager desire to bring it to a conclusion 
would ensure him his protection in the dilemma in which 
15 he stood. 

Emboldened by these considerations, the Jew pur- 
sued his point, and jostled the Norman Christian with- 
out respect either to his descent, quality, or religion. 
The complaints of the old man, however, excited the in- 
20 dignation of the bystanders. One of these, a stout well- 
set yeoman, arrayed in Lincoln green, having twelve 
arrows stuck in his belt, with a baldric and badge of silver, 
and a bow of six feet length in his hand, turned short 
round, and while his countenance, which his constant ex- 
25 posure to weather had rendered brown as a hazel nut, 
grew darker with anger, he advised the Jew to remem- 
ber that all the wealth he had acquired by sucking the 
blood of his miserable victims had but swelled him like a 
bloated spider, which might be overlooked while it kept 
30 in a corner, but would be crushed if it ventured into 
the light. This intimation, delivered in Norman-English 
with a firm voice and a stern aspect, made the Jew 
shrink back; and he would have probably withdrawn 
himself altogether from a vicinity so dangerous, had not 
35 the attention of every one been called to the sudden 
entrance of Prince John, who at that moment entered 
the lists, attended by a numerous and gay train, consist- 
ing partly of laymen, partly of churchmen, as light in 
their dress, and as gay in their demeanor, as their com- 


Ivanhoe 79 

panions. Among the latter was the Prior of Jorvaulx, in 
the most gallant trim which a dignitary of the church 
could venture to exhibit. Fur and gold were not spared 
in his garments; and the points of his boots, out-herod- 
ing the preposterous fashion of the time, turned up so 
very far as to be attached not to his knees merely, but 
to his very girdle, and effectually prevented him from 
putting his foot into the stirrup. This, however, was a 
slight inconvenience to the gallant Abbot, who, perhaps 
even rejoicing in the opportunity to display his accom- 
plished horsemanship before so many spectators, es- 
pecially of the fair sex, dispensed with the use of these 
supports to a timid rider. The rest of Prince John’s 
retinue consisted of the favorite leaders of his mercenary 
troops, some marauding barons and profligate attendants 
upon the court, with several Knights Templars and 
Knights of St. John. 

It may be here remarked, that the knights of these 
two orders were accounted hostile to King Richard, hav- 
ing adopted the side of Philip of France in the long 
train of disputes which took place in Palestine betwixt 
that monarch and the lion-hearted King of England. It 
was the well-known consequence of this discord that 
Richard’s repeated victories had been rendered fruitless, 
his romantic attempts to besiege Jerusalem disappointed, 
and the fruit of all the glory which he had acquired had 
dwindled into an uncertain truce with the Sultan 
Saladin. With the same policy which had dictated the 
conduct of their brethren in the Holy Land, the Tem- 
plars and Hospitallers in England and Normandy at- 
tached themselves to the faction of Prince John, having 
little reason to desire the return of Richard to England, 
or the succession of Arthur, his legitimate heir. For the 
opposite reason, Prince John hated and contemned the 
few Saxon families of consequence which subsisted in 
England, and omitted no opportunity of mortifying and 
affronting them; being conscious that his person and 
pretensions were disliked by them, as well as by the greater 
part of the English commons, who feared farther innova- 


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80 Ivanhoe 

tion upon their rights and liberties from a sovereign of 
John’s licentious and tyrannical disposition. 

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well 
mounted, and splendidly dressed in crimson and in gold, 
5 bearing upon his hand a falcon, and having his head 
covered by a rich fur bonnet, adorned with a circle of 
precious stones, from which his long curled hair escaped 
and overspread his shoulders, Prince John, upon a gray 
and high-mettled palfrey, caracoled within the lists at 
10 the head of his jovial party, laughing loud with his 
train, and eying with all the boldness of royal criticism 
the beauties who adorned the lofty galleries. 

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of the Prince 
a dissolute audacity, mingled with extreme haughtiness 
15 and indifference to the feelings of others, could not yet 
deny to his countenance that sort of comeliness which 
belongs to an open set of features, well formed by na- 
ture, modeled by art to the usual rules of courtesy, yet 
so far frank and honest that they seemed as if they dis- 
20 claimed to conceal the natural workings of the soul. 
Such an expression is often mistaken for manly frankness, 
when in truth it arises from the reckless indifference of 
a libertine disposition, conscious of superiority of birth, 
of wealth, or of some other adventitious advantage, 
25 totally unconnected with personal merit. To those who 
did not think so deeply, and they were the greater num- 
ber by a hundred to one, the splendor of Prince John’s 
rheno (i.e. fur tippet), the richness of his cloak, lined 
with the most costly sables, his maroquin boots and golden 
30 spurs, together with the grace with which he managed 
his palfrey, were sufficient to merit clamorous applause. 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attention of 
the Prince was called by the commotion, not yet subsided, 
which had attended the ambitious movement of Isaac 
35 towards the higher places of the assembly. The quick 
eye of Prince John instantly recognized the Jew, but 
was much more agreeably attracted by the beautiful 
daughter of Zion, who, terrified by the tumult, clung 
close to the arm of her aged father. % 


Ivanhoe 


81 


The figure of Rebecca might indeed have compared 
with the proudest beauties of England, even though it 
had been judged by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince 
John. Her form was exquisitely symmetrical, and was 
shown to advantage by a sort of Eastern dress, which 
she wore according to the fashion of the females of 
her nation. Her turban of yellow silk suited well with 
the darkness of her complexion. The brilliancy of her 
eyes, the superb arch of her eyebrows, her well-formed 
aquiline nose, her teeth as white as pearl, and the pro- 
fusion of her sable tresses, which, each arranged in its 
own little spiral of twisted curls, fell down upon as 
much of a lovely neck and bosom as a simarre of the 
richest Persian silk, exhibiting flowers in their natural 
colors embossed upon a purple ground, permitted to be 
visible — all these constituted a combination of loveli- 
ness which yielded not to the most beautiful of the 
maidens who surrounded her. It is true, that of the 
golden and pearl-studded clasps which closed her vest 
from the throat to the waist, the three uppermost were 
left unfastened on account of the heat, which something 
enlarged the prospect to which we allude. A diamond 
necklace, with pendants of inestimable value, were by this 
means also made more conspicuous. The feather of an 
ostrich, fastened in her turban by an agraffe set with 
brilliants, was another distinction of the beautiful Jewess, 
scoffed and sneered at by the proud dames who sat 
above her, but secretly envied by those who affected to 
deride them. 

“ By the bald scalp of Abraham,” said Prince John, 
“ yonder Jewess must be the very model of that perfec- 
tion whose charms drove frantic the wisest king that 
ever lived ! What sayest thou, Prior Aymer ? By the 
Temple of that wise king, which our wiser brother 
Richard proved unable to recover, she is the very Bride 
of the Canticles !” 

“ The Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley,” 
answered the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone ; “ but your 
Grace must remember she is still but a Jewess.” 


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Ivanhoe 


“ Ay ! ” added Prince John, without heeding him, 
“ and there is my Mammon of unrighteousness too — 
the Marquis of Marks, the Baron of Byzants, contesting 
for place with penniless dogs, whose threadbare cloaks 
5 have not a single cross in their pouches to keep the devil 
from dancing there. By the body of St. Mark, my prince 
of supplies, with his lovely Jewess, shall have a place in 
the gallery! What is she, Isaac? Thy wife or thy 
daughter, that Eastern houri that thou lockest under thy 
10 arm as thou wouldst thy treasure-casket ? ” 

“ My daughter Rebecca, so please your Grace,” an- 
swered Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrassed 
by the Prince’s salutation, in which, however, there was 
at least as much mockery as courtesy. 

15 “ The wiser man thou,” said John, with a peal of laugh- 

ter, in which his gay followers obsequiously joined. 
“ But, daughter or wife, she should be preferred accord- 
ing to her beauty and thy merits. Who sits above there ? ” 
he continued, bending his eye on the gallery. “ Saxon 
20 churls, lolling at their lazy length ! Out upon them ! let 
them sit close, and make room for my prince of usurers 
and his lovely daughter. I’ll make the hinds know they 
must share the high places of the synagogue with those 
whom the synagogue properly belongs to.” 

25 Those who occupied the gallery, to whom this in- 
jurious and unpolite speech was addressed, were the 
family of Gfidric the Saxon, with that of his ally and 
kinsman, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, a personage who, 
on account of his descent from the last Saxon monarchs 
SO of England, was held in the highest respect by all the 
Saxon natives of the north of England. But with the 
blood of this ancient royal race many of their infirmities 
had descended to Athelstane. He was comely in coun- 
tenance, bulky and strong in person, and in the flower 
35 of his age; yet inanimate in expression, dull-eyed, heavy- 
browed, inactive and sluggish in all his motions, and so 
slow in resolution, that the soubriquet of one of his an- 
cestors was conferred upon him, and he was very gen- 
erally called Athelstane the Unready. His friends — • 


Ivanhoe 


83 

and he had many who, as well as Cedric, were passion- 
ately attached to him — contended that this sluggish 
temper arose not from want of courage, but from mere 
want of decision; others alleged that his hereditary vice 
of drunkenness had obscured his faculties, never of a 5 
very acute order, and that the passive courage and meek 
good-nature which remained behind were merely the 
dregs of a character that might have been deserving of 
praise, but of which all the valuable parts had flown off 
in the progress of a long course of brutal debauchery. 10 

It was to this person, such as we have described him, 
that the Prince addressed his imperious command to 
make place for Isaac and Rebecca. Athelstane, utterly 
confounded at an order which the manners and feelings 
of the times rendered so injuriously insulting, unwilling 15 
to obey, yet undetermined how to resist, opposed only the 
vis inertia to the will of John; and, without stirring or 
making any motion whatever of obedience, opened his 
large gray eyes and stared at the Prince with an aston- 
ishment which had in it something extremely ludicrous. 20 
But the impatient John regarded it in no such light. 

“ The Saxon porker,” he said, “ is either asleep or 
minds me not. Prick him with your lance, De Bracy,” 
speaking to a knight who rode near him, the leader of 
a band of free companions, or condottieri; that is, of 23 
mercenaries belonging to no particular nation, but at- 
tached for the time to any prince by whom they were 
paid. There was a murmur even among the attendants 
of Prince John; but De Bracy, whose profession freed 
him from all scruples, extended his long lance over the 30 
space which separated the gallery from the lists and 
would have executed the commands of the Prince before 
Athelstane the Unready had recovered presence of mind 
sufficient even to draw back his person from the weapon, 
had not Cedric, as prompt as his companion was tardy, 35 
unsheathed, with the speed of lightning, the short sword 
which he wore, and at a single blow severed the point 
of the lance from the handle. The blood rushed into 
the countenance of Prince John. He swore one of his 


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deepest oaths, and was about to utter some threat cor- 
responding in violence, when he was diverted from his 
purpose, partly by his own attendants, who gathered 
around him conjuring him to be patient, partly by a 
5 general exclamation of the crowd, uttered in loud applause 
of the spirited conduct of Cedric. The Prince rolled his 
eyes in indignation, as if to collect some safe and easy 
victim; and chancing to encounter the firm glance of the 
same archer whom we have already noticed, and who 
10 seemed to persist in his gesture of applause, in spite of 
the frowning aspect which the Prince bent upon him, he 
demanded his reason for clamoring thus. 

“ I always add my hollo,” said the yeoman, “ when I 
see a good shot or a gallant blow.” 

15 “ Sayst thou ? ” answered the Prince ; “ then thou canst 

hit the white thyself, I’ll warrant.” 

“ A woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance, I 
can hit,” answered the yeoman. 

“ And Wat Tyrrel’s mark, at a hundred yards,” said a 
20 voice from behind, but by whom uttered could not be 
discerned. 

This allusion to the fate of William Rufus, his grand- 
father [predecessor], at once incensed and alarmed Prince 
John. He satisfied himself, however, with commanding 
25 the men-at-arms, who surrounded the lists, to keep an 
eye on the braggart, pointing to the yeoman. 

“ By St. Grizzel,” he added, “ we will try his own 
skill, who is so ready to give his voice to the feats of 
others ! ” 

30 “I shall not fly the trial,” said the yeoman, with the 
composure which marked his whole deportment. 

“ Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,” said the fiery 
Prince ; “ for, by the light of Heaven, since I have said 
it, the Jew shall have his seat amongst ye ! ” 

35 “ By no means, an it please your Grace ! It is not fit 

for such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,” said 
the Jew, whose ambition for precedence, though it had 
led him to dispute place with the extenuated and im- 
poverished descendant of the line of Montdidier, by no 


Ivanhoe 85 

means stimulated him to an intrusion upon the privileges 
of the wealthy Saxons. 

“ Up, infidel dog, when I command you,” said Prince 
John, “ or I will have thy swarthy hide stripped off and 
tanned for horse-furniture ! ” 

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and 
narrow steps which led up to the gallery. 

“ Let me see,” said the Prince, “ who dare stop him ! ” 
fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his in- 
tention to hurl the Jew down headlong. 

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, 
who, springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and ex- 
claiming, in answer to the Prince’s defiance, “ Marry, 
that will I ! ” opposed to the beard of the Jew a shield 
of brawn, which he plucked from beneath his cloak, and 
with which, doubtless, he had furnished himself lest the 
tournament should have proved longer than his appetite 
could endure abstinence. Finding the abomination of 
his tribe opposed to his very nose, while the Jester at 
the same time flourished his wooden sword above his 
head, the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, and rolled 
down the steps — an excellent jest to the spectators, who 
set up a loud laughter, in which Prince John and his 
attendants heartily joined. 

“Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba; “I 
have vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword and 
shield,” he added, brandishing the brawn in one hand and 
the wooden sword in the other. 

“ Who and what art thou, noble champion ? ” said 
Prince John, still laughing. 

“ A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester ; “ I 
am Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son of 
Weatherbrain, who was the son of an alderman.” 

“ Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring,” 
said Prince John, not unwilling, perhaps, to seize an 
apology to desist from his original purpose ; “ to place the 
vanquished beside the victor were false heraldry.” 

“ Knave upon fool were worse,” answered the Jester, 
“ and Jew upon bacon worst of all.” 


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“ Gramercy ! good fellow,” cried Prince John, “ thou 
pleasest me. Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of byzants.” 

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to refuse 
and unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred bag 
5 which hung by his girdle, and was perhaps endeavoring 
to ascertain how few coins might pass for a handful, 
the Prince stooped from his jennet and settled Isaac’s 
doubts by snatching the pouch itself from his side; and 
flinging to Wamba a couple of the gold pieces which it 
10 contained, he pursued his career round the lists, leaving 
the Jew to the derision of those around him, and himself 
receiving as much applause from the spectators as if he 
had done some honest and honorable action. 


CHAPTER VIII 


At this the challehger with fierce defy 

His trumpet sounds; the challenged makes reply. 

With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 
Their visors closed, their lances in the rest, 

Or at the helmet pointed or the crest, 

They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 

And spurring see decrease the middle space. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

In the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he suddenly 
stopped, and, appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, declared 
the principal business of the day had been forgotten. 

“ By my halidom,” said he, “ we have neglected, Sir 
Prior, to name the fair Sovereign of Love and of Beauty, 
by whose white hand the palm is to be distributed. For 
my part, I am liberal in my ideas, and I care not if I 
give my vote for the black-eyed Rebecca.” 

“ Holy Virgin,” answered the Prior, turning up his 
eyes in horror, “ a Jewess ! We should deserve to be 
stoned out of the lists; and I am not yet old enough to 
be a martyr. Besides, I swear by my patron saint that 
she is far inferior to the lovely Saxon Rowena.” 

“Saxon or Jew,” answered the Prince — “Saxon or 
Jew, dog or hog, what matters it ! I say, name Rebecca, 
were it only to mortify the Saxon churls.” 

A murmur arose even among his own immediate at- 
tendants. 

“This passes a jest, my lord,” said De Bracy; “no 
knight here will lay lance in rest if such an insult is at- 
tempted.” 

“ It is the mere wantonness of insult,” said one of the 
oldest and most important of Prince John’s followers, 

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Waldemar Fitzurse, “ and if your Grace attempt it, can- 
not but prove ruinous to your projects.” 

“ I entertained you, sir,” said John, reining up his 
palfrey haughtily, “ for my follower, but not for my 
5 counselor.” 

“ Those who follow your Grace in the paths which 
you tread,” said Waldemar, but speaking in a low voice, 
“ acquire the right of counselors ; for your interest and 
safety are not more deeply gaged than their own.” 

10 From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw 
the necessity of acquiescence. “I did but jest,” he said; 
“ and you turn upon me like so many adders ! Name 
whom you will, in the fiend’s name, and please yourselves.” 

‘‘Nay, nay,” said De Bracy, “let the fair sovereign’s 
15 throne remain unoccupied until the conqueror shall be 
named, and then let him choose the lady by whom it 
shall be filled. It will add another grace to his triumph, 
and teach fair ladies to prize the love of valiant knights, 
who can exalt them to such distinction.” 

20 “ If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,” said the 

Prior, “ I will gage my rosary that I name the Sovereign 
of Love and Beauty.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered De Bracy, “ is a good 
lance; but there are others around these lists, Sir Prior, 
25 who will not fear to encounter him.” 

“ Silence, sirs,” said Waldemar, “ and let the Prince 
assume his seat. The knights and spectators are alike 
impatient, the time advances, and highly fit it is that the 
sports should commence.” 

30 Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in Walde- 
mar Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favorite min- 
ister, who, in serving his sovereign, must always do so in 
his own way. The Prince acquiesced, however, although 
his disposition was precisely of that kind which is apt 
35 to be obstinate upon trifles, and, assuming his throne, and 
being surrounded by his followers, gave signal to the 
heralds to proclaim the laws of the tournament, which 
were briefly as follows : 

First, the five challengers were to undertake all comers. 


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89 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, if he 
pleased, select a special antagonist from among the chal- 
lengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with the 
reverse of his lance, the trial of skill was made with 
what were called the arms of courtesy, that is, with 
lances at whose extremity a piece of round flat board 
was fixed, so that no danger was encountered, save from 
the shock of the horses and riders. But if the shield 
was touched with the sharp end of the lance, the combat 
was understood to be at outrance, that is, the knights 
were to fight with sharp weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished 
their vow, by each of them breaking five lances, the Prince 
was to declare the victor in the first day’s tourney, who 
should receive as prize a war-horse of exquisite beauty 
and matchless strength; and in addition to this reward 
of valor, it was now declared, he should have the pe- 
culiar honor of naming the Queen of Love and Beauty, 
by whom the prize should be given on the ensuing day. 

Fourthly, it was announced that, on the second day, 
there should be a general tournament, in which all the 
knights present, who were desirous to win praise, might 
take part; and being divided into two bands, of equal 
numbers, might fight it out manfully until the signal was 
given by Prince John to cease the combat. The elected 
Queen of Love and Beauty was then to crown the knight, 
whom the Prince should adjudge to have borne himself 
best in this second day, with a coronet composed of thin 
gold plate, cut into the shape of a laurel crown. On 
this second day the knightly games ceased. But on 
that which was to follow, feats of archery, of bull-baiting, 
and other popular amusements were to be practiced, for 
the more immediate amusement of the populace. In this 
manner did Prince John endeavor to lay the foundation 
of a popularity which he was perpetually throwing down 
by some inconsiderate act of wanton aggression upon 
the feelings and prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. 
The sloping galleries were crowded with all that was 


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noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the northern and 
midland parts of England ; and the contrast of the various 
dresses of these dignified spectators rendered the view as 
gay as it was rich, while the interior and lower space, 
5 filled with the substantial burgesses and yeomen of merry 
England, formed, in their more plain attire, a dark fringe, 
of border, around this circle of brilliant embroidery, re- 
lieving, and at the same time setting off, its splendor. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their 
10 usual cry of “ Largesse, largesse, gallant knights ! ” and 
gold and silver pieces were showered on them from the 
galleries, it being a high point of chivalry to exhibit 
liberality towards those whom the age accounted at once 
the secretaries and the historians of honor. The bounty 
15 of the spectators was acknowledged by the customary 
shouts of “ Love of ladies — Death of champions — 
Honor to the generous — Glory to the brave ! ” To 
which the more humble spectators added their acclama- 
tions, and a numerous band of trumpeters the flourish 
20 of their martial instruments. When these sounds had 
ceased, the heralds withdrew from the lists in gay and 
glittering procession, and none remained within them save 
the marshals of the field, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on 
horseback, motionless as statues, at the opposite ends of 
25 the lists. Meantime, the inclosed space at the northern 
extremity of the lists, large as it was, was now completely 
crowded with knights desirous to prove their skill against 
the challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries, 
presented the appearance of a sea of waving plumage, in- 
30 termixed with glistening helmets and tall lances, to the 
extremities of which were, in many cases, attached small 
pennons of about a span’s breadth, which, fluttering in 
the air as the breeze caught them, joined with the rest- 
less motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 
35 At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, 
chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area; a single 
champion riding in front, and the other four following 
in pairs. All were splendidly armed, and my Saxon 
authority (in the Wardour Manuscript) records at great 


Ivanhoe 


9i 

length their devices, their colors, and the embroidery of 
their horse trappings. It is unnecessary to be particular 
on these subjects. To borrow lines from a contemporary 
poet, who has written but too little — 

The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust. 

Their escutcheons have long moldered from the walls 
of their castles. Their castles themselves are but green 
mounds and shattered ruins : the place that once knew 
them, knows them no more — nay, many a race since 
theirs has died out and been forgotten in the very land 
which they occupied with all the authority of feudal 
proprietors and feudal lords. What, then, would it avail 
the reader to know their names, or the evanescent symbols 
of their martial rank? 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which 
awaited their names and feats, the champions advanced 
through the lists, restraining their fiery steeds, and com- 
pelling them to move slowly, while, at the same time, 
they exhibited their paces, together with the grace and 
dexterity of the riders. As the procession entered the 
lists, the sound of a wild barbaric music was heard from 
behind the tents of the challengers, where the performers 
were concealed. It was of Eastern origin, having been 
brought from the Holy Land; and the mixture of the 
cymbals and bells seemed to bid welcome at once, and 
defiance, to the knights as they advanced. With the 
eyes of an immense concourse of spectators fixed upon 
them, the five knights advanced up the platform upon 
which the tents of the challengers stood, and there sep- 
arating themselves, each touched slightly, and with the 
reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom 
he wished to oppose himself. The lower order of specta- 
tors in general — nay, many of the higher class, and it 
is even said several of the ladies — were rather disap- 
pointed at the champions choosing the arms of courtesy. 


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For the same sort of persons who, in the present day, 
applaud most highly the deepest tragedies were then in- 
terested in a tournament exactly in proportion to the 
danger incurred by the champions engaged. 

5 Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the 
champions retreated to the extremity of the lists, where 
they remained drawn up in a line; while the challengers, 
sallying each from his pavilion, mounted their horses, 
and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, descended from 
10 the platform and opposed themselves individually to the 
knights who had touched their respective shields. 

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started 
out against each other at full gallop; and such was the 
superior dexterity or good fortune of the challengers, 
15 that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and 
Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground. The antagonist of 
Grantmesnil, instead of bearing his lance-point fair 
against the crest or the shield of his enemy, swerved 
so much from the direct line as to break the weapon 
20 athwart the person of his opponent — a circumstance 
which was accounted more disgraceful than that of be- 
ing actually unhorsed, because the latter might happen 
from accident, whereas the former evinced awkwardness 
and want of management of the weapon and of the horse. 
25 The fifth knight alone maintained the honor of his 
party, and parted fairly with the Knight of St. John, 
both splintering their lances without advantage on either 
side. 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the ac- 
30 clamations of the heralds and the clangor of the trump- 
ets, announced the triumph of the victors and the de- 
feat of the vanquished. The former retreated to their 
pavilions, and the latter, gathering themselves up as 
they could, withdrew from the lists in disgrace and de- 
35 jection, to agree with their victors concerning the re- 
demption of their arms and their horses, which, according 
to the laws of the tournament, they had forfeited. The 
fifth of their number alone tarried in the lists long enough 
to be greeted by the applauses of the spectators, amongst 


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93 

whom he retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless, of his 
companions’ mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field; 
and although they had various success, yet, upon the 
whole, the advantage decidedly remained with the chal- 
lengers, not one of whom lost his seat or swerved from 
his charge — misfortunes which befell one or two of their 
antagonists in each encounter. The spirits, therefore, of 
those opposed to them seemed to be considerably damped 
by their continued success. Three knights only appeared 
on the fourth entry, who, avoiding the shields of Bois- 
Guilbert and Front-de-Bceuf, contented themselves with 
touching those of the three other knights who had not 
altogether manifested the same strength and dexterity. 
This politic selection did not alter the fortune of the 
field: the challengers were still successful. One of their 
antagonists was overthrown; and both the others failed 
in the attaint , that is, in striking the helmet and shield 
of their antagonist firmly and strongly, with the lance 
held in a direct line, so that the weapon might break 
unless the champion was overthrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerable 
pause; nor did it appear that any one was very desirous 
of renewing the contest. The spectators murmured 
among themselves; for, among the challengers, Malvoisin 
and Front-de-Bceuf were unpopular from their characters, 
and the others, except Grantmesnil, were disliked as 
strangers and foreigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction 
so keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each ad- 
vantage gained by the Norman challengers, a repeated 
triumph over the honor of England. His own education 
had taught him no skill in the games of chivalry, although, 
with the arms of his Saxon ancestors, he had manifested 
himself, on many occasions, a brave and determined 
soldier. He looked anxiously to Athelstane, who had 
learned the accomplishments of the age, as if desiring 
that he should make some personal effort to recover the 
victory which was passing into the hands of the Templar 


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and his associates. But, though both stout of heart and 
strong of person, Athelstane had a disposition too inert 
and unambitious to make the exertions which Cedric 
seemed to expect from him. 

5 “ The day is against England, my lord,” said Cedric, 

in a marked tone ; “ are you not tempted to take the 
lance ? ” 

“ I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “ in the 
melee; it is not worth while for me to arm myself to-day.” 
10 Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It con- 
tained the Norman word melee (to express the general 
conflict), and it evinced some indifference to the honor 
of the country; but it was spoken by Athelstane, whom 
he held in such profound respect that he would not trust 
15 himself to canvass his motives or his foibles. Moreover, 
he had no time to make any remark, for Wamba thrust 
in his word, observing, “ It was better, though scarce 
easier, to be the best man among a hundred than the 
best man of two.” 

20 Athelstane took the observation as a serious compli- 
ment; but Cedric, who better understood the Jester’s 
meaning, darted at him a severe and menacing look ; 
and lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps, that the time and 
place prevented his receiving, notwithstanding his place 
25 and service, more sensible marks of his master’s re- 
sentment. 

The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, 
excepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming — 
“ Love of ladies, splintering of lances ! stand forth, gallant 
30 knights, fair eyes look upon your deeds ! ” 

The music also of the challengers breathed from time 
to time wild bursts expressive of triumph or defiance, 
while the clowns grudged a holiday which seemed to 
pass away in inactivity; and old knights and nobles la- 
35 mented in whispers the decay of martial spirit, spoke of 
the triumphs of their younger days, but agreed that the 
land did not now supply dames of such transcendent 
beauty as had animated the jousts of former times. 
Prince John began to talk to his attendants about making 


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95 

ready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the 
prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single 
spear, overthrown two knights and foiled a third. 

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers 
concluded one of those long and high flourishes with 
which they had broken the silence of the lists, it was 
answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of 
defiance from the northern extremity. All eyes were 
turned to see the new champion which these sounds an- 
nounced, and no sooner were the barriers opened than 
he paced into the lists. As far as could be judged of 
a man sheathed in armor, the new adventurer did not 
greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be rather 
slender than strongly made. His suit of armor was 
formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the device 
on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, 
with the Spanish word Desdichado , signifying Disin- 
herited. He was mounted on a gallant black horse, and 
as he passed through the lists he gracefully saluted the 
Prince and the ladies by lowering his lance. The dex- 
terity with which he managed his steed, and something 
of youthful grace which he displayed in his manner, won 
him the favor of the multitude, which some of the lower 
classes expressed by calling out, “ Touch Ralph de 
Vipont’s shield — touch the Hospitaller’s shield; he has 
the least sure seat, he is your cheapest bargain.” 

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant 
hints, ascended the platform by the sloping alley which 
led to it from the lists, and, to the astonishment of all 
present, riding straight up to the central pavilion, struck 
with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert until it rang again. All stood astonished 
at his presumption, but none more than the redoubted 
Knight whom he had thus defied to mortal combat, and 
who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was standing 
carelessly at the door of the pavilion. 

“ Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the 
Templar, “ and have you heard mass this morning, that 
you peril your life so frankly?” 


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9 6 Ivanhoe 

“ I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” answered 
the Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger 
had recorded himself in the books of the tourney. 

“ Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
5 “ and look your last upon the sun ; for this night thou 
shalt sleep in paradise.” 

Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disinherited 
Knight, “ and to requite it, I advise thee to take a fresh 
horse and a new lance, for by my honor you will need 
10 both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his 
horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, 
and compelled him in the same manner to move back- 
ward through the lists, till he reached the northern ex- 
15 tremity, where he remained stationary, in expectation of 
his antagonist. This feat of horsemanship again attracted 
the applause of the multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precautions 
which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not 
20 neglect his advice; for his honor was too nearly con- 
cerned to permit his neglecting any means which might 
insure victory over his presumptuous opponent. He 
changed his horse for a proved and fresh one of great 
strength and spirit. He chose a new and tough spear, 
25 lest the wood of the former might have been strained in 
the previous encounters he had sustained. Lastly, he 
laid aside his shield, which had received some little 
damage, and received another from his squires. His first 
had only borne the general device of his rider, repre- 
30 senting two knights riding upon one horse, an emblem 
expressive of the original humility and poverty of the 
Templars, qualities which they had since exchanged for 
the arrogance and wealth that finally occasioned their 
suppression. Bois-Guilbert’ s new shield bore a raven in 
35 full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing the 
motto, Gare le Corbeau. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other 
at the two extremities of the lists, the public expectation 
was strained to the highest pitch. Few augured the pos- 


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sibility that the encounter could terminate well for the 
Disinherited Knight ; yet his courage and gallantry se- 
cured the general good wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the 
champions vanished from their posts with the speed of 5 
lightning, and closed in the center of the lists with the 
shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers 
up to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that 
both knights had fallen, for the shock had made each 
horse recoil backwards upon its haunches. The address of 10- 
the riders recovered their steeds by use of the bridle 
and spur; and having glared on each other for an in- 
stant with eyes which seemed to flash fire through the 
bars of their visors, each made a demi-volte, and, retiring 
to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh lance from 15 
the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and 
handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the in- 
terest taken by the spectators in this encounter — the 
most equal, as well as the best performed, which had 20 
graced the day. But no sooner had the knights resumed 
their station than the clamor of applause was hushed into 
a silence so deep and so dead that it seemed the multitude 
were afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the 25 
combatants and their horses might recover breath, Prince 
John with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound 
the onset. The champions a second time sprung from 
their stations, and closed in the center of the lists, with the 
same speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but 30 
not the same equal fortune as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the 
center of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fair and 
forcibly that his spear went to shivers, and the Disin- 
herited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, 35 
that champion had, in the beginning of his career, di- 
rected the point of his lance towards Bois-Guilbert’s 
shield, but, changing his aim almost in the moment of 
encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a mark more 


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98 

difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock 
more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman on 
the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the bars. 
Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained 
5 his high reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle 
burst, he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, 
however, saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground 
under a cloud of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed 
10 was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and, 
stung with madness, both at his disgrace and at the ac- 
clamations with which it was hailed by the spectators, he' 
drew his sword and waved it in defiance of his conqueror. 
The Disinherited Knight sprung from his steed, and also 
15 unsheathed his sword. The marshals of the field, however, 
spurred their horses between them, and reminded them 
that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present 
occasion, permit this species of encounter. 

“We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar, cast- 
20 ing a resentful glance at his antagonist ; “ and where 
there are none to separate us.” 

“ If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ the 
fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, with 
spear, with ax, or with sword, I am alike ready to en- 
25 counter thee.” 

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, 
but the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, 
compelled them to separate. The Disinherited Knight 
returned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his 
30 tent, where he remained for the rest of the day in an 
agony of despair. 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called 
for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower 
part of his helmet, announced that he quaffed it, “ To 
35 all true English hearts, and to the confusion of foreign 
tyrants.” He then commanded his trumpet to sound a 
defiance to the challengers, and desired a herald to an- 
nounce to them that he should make no election, but 


Ivanhoe 


99 

was willing to encounter them in the order in which they 
pleased to advance against him. 

The gigantic Front-de-Bceuf, armed in sable armor, 
was the first who took the field. He bore on a white 
shield a black bull’s head, half defaced by the numerous 
encounters which he had undergone, and bearing the 
arrogant motto, Cave, Adsum. Over this champion the 
Disinherited Knight obtained a slight but decisive ad- 
vantage. Both knights broke their lances fairly, but 
Front-de-Bceuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was 
adjudged to have the disadvantage. 

In the stranger’s third encounter with Sir Philip 
Malvoisin he was equally successful; striking that baron 
so forcibly on the casque that the laces of the helmet 
broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling by being 
unhelmeted, was declared vanquished like his companions. 

In his fourth combat with De Grantmesnil the Disin- 
herited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had 
hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. De Grantmesnil’s 
horse, which was young and violent, reared and plunged 
in the course of the career so as to disturb the rider’s 
aim, and the stranger, declining to take the advantage 
which this accident afforded him, raised his lance, and 
passing his antagonist without touching him, wheeled his 
horse and rode back again to his own end of the lists, 
offering his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a 
second encounter. This De Grantmesnil declined, avow- 
ing himself vanquished as much by the courtesy as by 
the address of his opponent. 

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger’s 
triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such force 
that the blood gushed from his nose and his mouth, and he 
was borne senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unani- 
mous award of the Prince and marshals, announcing that 
day’s honors to the Disinherited Knight. 


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CHAPTER IX 


In the midst was seen 
A lady of a more majestic mien, 

By stature and by beauty mark’d their sovereign Queen. 

And as in beauty she surpass’d the choir, 

So nobler than ' the rest was her attire ; 

A crown of ruddy gold inclosed her brow, 

Plain without pomp, and rich without a show; 

A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand. 

She bore aloft her symbol of command. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 

William de Wyvil and Stephen de Marti val, the mar- 
shals of the field, were the first to offer their congratula- 
tions to the victor, praying him, at the same time, to 
suffer his helmet to be unlaced, or at least, that he would 
5 raise his visor ere they conducted him to receive the 
prize of the day’s tourney from the hands of Prince 
John. The Disinherited Knight, with all knightly cour- 
tesy, declined their request, alleging, that he could not 
at this time suffer his face to be seen, for reasons which 
10 he had assigned to the heralds when he entered the lists. 
The marshals wera perfectly satisfied by this reply; for 
amidst the frequent and capricious vows by which 
knights were accustomed to bind themselves in . the days 
of chivalry, there were none more common than those 
15 by which they engaged to remain incognito for a certain 
space, or until some particular adventure was achieved. 
The marshals, therefore, pressed no farther into the 
mystery of the Disinherited Knight, but, announcing to 
Prince John the conqueror’s desire to remain unknown, 
20 they requested permission to bring him before his Grace, 
in order that he might receive the reward of his valor. 

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John’s curiosity was excited by the mystery observed 
by the stranger; and, being already displeased with the 
issue of the tournament, in which the challengers whom 
he favored had been successively defeated by one knight, 
he answered haughtily to the marshals, “ By the light of 
Our Lady’s brow, this same knight hath been disinherited 
as well of his courtesy as of his lands, since he desires 
to appear before us without uncovering his face. Wot 
ye, my lords,” he said, turning round to his train, “ who 
this gallant can be that bears himself thus proudly?” 

“ I cannot guess,” answered De Bracy, “ nor did I think 
there had been within the four seas that girth Britain 
a champion that could bear down these five knights in 
one day’s jousting. By my faith, I shall never forget 
the force with which he shocked De Vipont. The poor 
Hospitaller was hurled from his saddle like a stone from 
a sling.” 

“ Boast not of that,” said a Knight of St. John who 
was present; “your Temple champion had no better luck. 
I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice over, 
grasping his hands full of sand at every turn.” 

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would have 
replied, but was prevented by Prince John. “ Silence, 
sirs ! ” he said ; “ what unprofitable debate have we 
here?” 

“ The victor,” said De Wyvil, “ still waits the pleasure 
of your Highness.” 

“ It is our pleasure,” answered John, “ that he do so 
wait until we learn whether there is not some one who 
can at least guess at his name and quality. Should he 
remain there till nightfall, he has had work enough to 
keep him warm.” 

“ Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “ will do less 
than due honor to the victor if you compel him to wait 
till we tell your Highness that which we cannot know; 
at least I can form no guess — unless he be one of the 
good lances who accompanied King Richard to Palestine, 
and who are now straggling homeward from the Holy 
Land.” 


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“It may be the Earl of Salisbury/’ said De Bracy; 
“ he is about the same pitch.” 

“ Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland, 
rather,” said Fitzurse; “ Salisbury is bigger in the bones.” 
5 A whisper arose among the train, but by whom first sug- 
gested could not be ascertained. “ It might be the King 
— it might be Richard Coeur-de-Lion himself ! ” 

“Over God’s forbode ! ” said Prince John, involuntarily 
turning at the same time as pale as death, and shrinking 
10 as if blighted by a flash of lightning; “ Waldemar ! De 
Bracy ! brave knights and gentlemen, remember your 
promises, and stand truly by me ! ” 

“ Here is no danger impending,” said Waldemar 
Fitzurse ; “ are you so little acquainted with the gigantic 
15 limbs of your father’s son, as to think they can be held 
within the circumference of yonder suit of armor? De 
Wyvil and Martival, you will best serve the Prince by 
bringing forward the victor to the throne, and ending 
an error that has conjured all the blood from his cheeks. 
20 Look at him more closely,” he continued ; “ your Highness 
will see that he wants three inches of King Richard’s 
height, and twice as much of his shoulder-breadth. The 
very horse he backs could not have carried the ponderous 
weight of King Richard through a single course.” 

25 While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought for- 
ward the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a wooden 
flight of steps, which formed the ascent from the lists 
to Prince John’s throne. Still discomposed with the idea 
that his brother, so much injured, and to whom he was so 
30 much indebted, had suddenly arrived in his native king- 
dom, even the distinctions pointed out by Fitzurse did 
not altogether remove the Prince’s apprehensions; and 
while, with a short and embarrassed eulogy upon his 
valor, he caused to be delivered to him the war-horse 
35 assigned as the prize, he trembled lest from the barred 
visor of the mailed form before him an answer might be 
returned in the deep and awful accents of Richard the 
Lion-hearted. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in reply 


Ivanhoe 


103 

to the compliment of the Prince, which he only acknowl- 
edged with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly 
dressed, the animal itself being fully accoutered with 
the richest war-furniture ; which, however, scarcely added 
to the value of the noble creature in the eyes of those 
who were judges. Laying one hand upon the pommel 
of the saddle, the Disinherited Knight vaulted at once 
upon the back of the steed without making use of the 
stirrup, and, brandishing aloft his lance, rode twice around 
the lists, exhibiting the points and paces of the horse with 
the skill of a perfect horseman. 

The appearance of vanity which might otherwise have 
been attributed to this display was removed by the pro- 
priety shown in exhibiting to the best advantage the 
princely reward with which he had been just honored, 
and the Knight was again greeted by the acclamations of 
all present. 

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had 
reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor must 
now display his good judgment, instead of his valor, by 
selecting from among the beauties who graced the galleries 
a lady who should fill the throne of the Queen of Beauty 
and of Love, and deliver the prize of the tourney, upon the 
ensuing day. The Prince accordingly made a sign with 
his truncheon as the Knight passed him in his second 
career around the lists. The Knight turned towards the 
throne, and, sinking his lance until the point was within 
a foot of the ground, remained motionless, as if expect- 
ing John's commands; while all admired the sudden dex- 
terity with which he instantly reduced his fiery steed 
from a state of violent emotion and high excitation to 
the stillness of an equestrian statue. 

“ Sir Disinherited Knight," said Prince John, “ since 
that is the only title by which we can address you, it is 
now your duty, as well as privilege, to name the fair 
lady who, as Queen of Honor and of Love, is to pre- 
side over next day’s festival. If, as a stranger in our 
land, you should require the aid of other judgment to 


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guide your own, we can only say that Alicia, the daughter 
of our gallant knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at our 
court been long held the first in beauty as in place. 
Nevertheless, it is your undoubted prerogative to confer 
5 on whom you please this crown, by the delivery of which 
to the lady of your choice the election of to-morrow’s 
Queen will be formal and complete. Raise your lance.” 

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon its 
point a coronet of green satin, having around its edge 
10 a circlet of gold, the upper edge of which was relieved 
by arrow-points and hearts placed interchangeably, like 
the strawberry leaves and balls upon a ducal crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the 
daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than 
15 one motive, each the offspring of a mind which was a 
strange mixture of carelessness and presumption with low 
artifice and cunning. He wished to banish from the minds 
of the chivalry around him his own indecent and unac- 
ceptable jest respecting the Jewess Rebecca; he was de- 
20 sirous of conciliating Alicia’s father, Waldemar, of whom 
he stood in awe, and who had more than once shown him- 
self dissatisfied during the course of the day’s proceedings. 
He had also a wish to establish himself in the good 
graces of the lady; for John was at least as licentious in 
25 his pleasures as profligate in his ambition. But besides 
all these reasons, he was desirous to raise up against the 
Disinherited Knight, towards whom he already enter- 
tained a strong dislike, a powerful enemy in the person 
of Waldemar Fitzurse, who was likely, he thought, highly 
30 to resent the injury done to his daughter in case, as 
was not unlikely, the victor should make another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight 
passed the gallery, close to that of the Prince, in which 
the Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride of triumphant 
35 beauty, and pacing forwards as slowly as he had hitherto 
rode swiftly around the lists, he seemed to exercise his 
right of examining the numerous fair faces which adorned 
that splendid circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the 


Ivanhoe 


105 

beauties who underwent this examination, during the 
time it was proceeding. Some blushed; some assumed 
an air of pride and dignity; some looked straight for- 
ward, and essayed to seem utterly unconscious of what 
was going on; some drew back in alarm, which was 
perhaps affected; some endeavored to forbear smiling; 
and there were two or three who laughed outright. 
There were also some who dropped their veils over their 
charms; but as the Wardour Manuscript says these were 
fair ones of ten years’ standing, it may be supposed that, 
having had their full share of such vanities, they were 
willing to withdraw their claim in order to give a fair 
chance to the rising beauties of the age. 

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony 
in which the Lady Rowena was placed, and the expecta- 
tion of the spectators was excited to the utmost. 

It must be owned that, if an interest displayed in his 
success could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the 
part of the lists before which he paused had merited his 
predilection. Cedric the Saxon, overjoyed at the dis- 
comfiture of the Templar, and still more so at the mis- 
carriage of his two malevolent neighbors, Front-de- 
Boeuf and Malvoisin, had, with his body half-stretched 
over the balcony, accompanied the victor in each course 
not with his eyes only, but with his whole heart and 
soul. The Lady Rowena had watched the progress of 
the day with equal attention, though without openly be- 
traying the same intense interest. Even the unmoved 
Athelstane had shown symptoms of shaking off his apathy, 
when, calling for a huge goblet of muscadine, he quaffed 
it to the health of the Disinherited Knight. 

Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied 
by the Saxons, had shown no less interest in the fate of 
the day. 

“ Father Abraham!” said Isaac of York, when the 
first course was run betwixt the Templar and the Dis- 
inherited Knight, “how fiercely that Gentile rides! Ah, 
the good horse that was brought all the long way from 
Barbary, he takes no more care of him than if he were 


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a wild ass’s colt; and the noble armor that was worth 
so many zecchins to Joseph Pareira, the armorer of 
Milan, besides seventy in the hundred of profits, he 
cares for it as little as if he had found it in the high- 
5 ways ! ” 

“ If he risks his own person and limbs, father,” said 
Rebecca, “ in doing such a dreadful battle, he can scarce 
be expected to spare his horse and armor.” 

“ Child ! ” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “ thou 
10 knowest not what thou speakest. His neck and limbs 
are his own; but his horse and armor belong to — 
Holy Jacob! what was I about to say? Nevertheless, 
it is a good youth. See, Rebecca ! — see, he is again 
about to go up to battle against the Philistine ! Pray, 
15 child — pray for the safety of the good youth; and of 
the speedy horse and the rich armor. God of my 
fathers ! ” he again exclaimed, “ he hath conquered, and 
the uncircumcised Philistine hath fallen before his lance, 
even as Og the King of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the 
20 Amorites, fell before the sword of our fathers ! Surely 
he shall take their gold and their silver, and their war- 
horses, and their armor of brass and of steel, for a prey 
and for a spoil.” 

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during 
25 every course that was run, seldom failing to hazard a 
hasty calculation concerning the value of the horse and 
armor which were forfeited to the champion upon each 
new success. There had been therefore no small in- 
terest taken in the success of the Disinherited Knight by 
30 those who occupied the part of the lists before which 
he now paused. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesi- 
tation, the champion of the day remained stationary for 
more than a minute, while the eyes of the silent audience 
35 were riveted upon his motions; and then, gradually and 
gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he deposited the 
coronet which it supported at the feet of the fair Rowena. 
The trumpets instantly sounded, while the heralds pro- 


Ivanhoe 


107 

claimed the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty and of 
Love for the ensuing day, menacing with suitable penalties 
those who should be disobedient to her authority. They 
then repeated their cry of “ Largesse,” to which Cedric, 
in the height of his joy, replied by an ample donative, 
and to which Athelstane, though less promptly, added 
one equally large. 

There was some murmuring among the damsels of 
Norman descent, who were as much unused to see the 
preference given to a Saxon beauty as the Norman 
nobles were to sustain defeat in the games of chivalry 
which they themselves had introduced. But these sounds 
of disaffection were drowned by the popular shout of 
“ Long live the Lady Rowena, the chosen and lawful 
Queen of Love and of Beauty ! ” To which many in 
the lower area added, “ Long live the Saxon Princess ! 
long live the race of the immortal Alfred ! ” 

However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince 
John and to those around him, he saw himself neverthe- 
less obliged to confirm the nomination of the victor, 
and accordingly calling to horse, he left his throne, and 
mounting his jennet, accompanied by his train, he again 
entered the lists. The Prince paused a moment beneath 
the gallery of the Lady Alicia, to whom he paid his com- 
pliments, observing, at the same time, to those around 
him — “By my halidome, sirs! if the Knight’s feats in 
arms have shown that he hath limbs and sinews, his 
choice hath no less proved that his eyes are none of the 
clearest.” 

It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, John’s 
misfortune not perfectly to understand the characters of 
those whom he wished to conciliate. Waldemar Fitzurse 
was rather offended than pleased at the Prince stating 
thus broadly an opinion that his daughter had been 
slighted. 

“ I know no right of chivalry,” he said, “ more precious 
or inalienable than that of each free knight to choose 
his lady-love by his own judgment. My daughter 


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courts distinction from no one; and in her own char- 
acter, and in her own sphere, will never fail to receive 
the full proportion of that which is her due.” 

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, as 
5 if to give vent to his vexation, he made the animal 
bound forward to the gallery where Rowena was seated, 
with the crown still at her feet. 

“ Assume/’ he said, “ fair lady, the mark of your 
sovereignty, to which none vows homage more sincerely 
10 than ourself, John of Anjou; and if it please you to-day, 
with your noble sire and friends, to grace our banquet 
in the Castle of Ashby, we shall learn to know the em- 
press to whose service we devote to-morrow.” 

Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her 
15 in his native Saxon. 

“ The Lady Rowena,” he said, “ possesses not the lan- 
guage in which to reply to your courtesy, or to sustain 
her part in your festival. I also, and the noble Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh, speak only the language, and 
20 practice only the manners, of our fathers. We therefore 
decline with thanks your Highness’s courteous invitation 
to the banquet. To-morrow, the Lady Rowena will take, 
upon her the state to which she has been called by the 
free election of the victor Knight, confirmed by the ac- 
25 clamations of the people.” 

So saying, he lifted the coronet and placed it upon 
Rowena’s head, in token of her acceptance of the tem- 
porary authority assigned to her. 

“What says he?” said Prince John, affecting not to 
30 understand the Saxon language, in which, however, he 
was well skilled. The purport of Cedric’s speech was 
repeated to him in French. “It is well,” he said; “to- 
morrow we will ourself conduct this mute sovereign to 
her seat of dignity. You, at least, Sir Knight,” he added, 
35 turning to the victor, who had remained near the gallery, 
“ will this day share our banquet ? ” 

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and 
hurried voice, excused himself by pleading fatigue, and 
the necessity of preparing for to-morrow’s encounter. 


Ivanhoe 


109 

“It is well,” said Prince John, haughtily; “although 
unused to such refusals, we will endeavor to digest our 
banquet as we may, though ungraced by the most suc- 
cessful in arms and his elected Queen of Beauty.” 

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his glit- 5 
tering train, and his turning his steed for that purpose was 
the signal for the breaking up and dispersion of the spec- 
tators. 

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended 
pride, especially when combined with conscious want of 10 
desert, John had hardly proceeded three paces ere again, 
turning around, he fixed an eye of stern resentment upon 
the yeoman who had displeased him in the early part of 
the day, and issued his commands to the men-at-arms 
who stood near — “ On your life, suffer not that fellow 15 
to escape.” 

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince with 
the same unvaried steadiness which had marked his 
former deportment, saying, with a smile, “ I have no in- 
tention to leave Ashby until the day after to-morrow. I 20 
must see how Staffordshire and Leicestershire can draw 
their bows; the forests of Needwood and Charnwood must 
rear good archers.” 

“ I,” said Prince John to his attendants, but not in di- 
rect reply — “ I will see how he can draw his own ; and 25 
woe betide him unless his skill should prove some apology 
for his insolence ! ” 

“ It is full time,” said De Bracy, “ that the outrccuid- 
ance of these peasants should be restrained by some strik- 
ing example.” 30 

Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his patron 
was not taking the readiest road to popularity, shrugged 
up his shoulders and was silent. Prince John resumed 
his retreat from the lists, and the dispersion of the mul- 
titude became general. 35 

In various routes, according to the different quarters 
from which they came, and in groups of various numbers, 
the spectators were seen retiring over the plain. By far 
the most numerous part streamed towards the town of 


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Ashby, where many of the distinguished persons were 
lodged in the castle, and where others found accommoda- 
tion in the town itself. Among these were most of the 
knights who had already appeared in the tournament, 

5 or who proposed to fight there the ensuing day, and who, 
as they rode slowly along, talking over the events of 
the day, were greeted with loud shouts by the populace. 
The same acclamations were bestowed upon Prince John, 
although he was indebted for them rather to the splendor 
10 of his appearance and train than to the popularity of his 
character. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better- 
merited acclamation, attended the victor of the day, until, 
anxious to withdraw himself from popular notice, he ac- 
15 cepted the accommodation of one of those pavilions 
pitched at the extremities of the lists, the use of which 
was courteously tendered him by the marshals of the 
field. On his retiring to his tent, many who had lingered 
in the lists, to look upon and form conjectures concern- 
20 ing him, also dispersed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of 
men lately crowded together in one place, and agitated 
by the same passing events, were now exchanged for the 
distant hum of voices of different groups retreating in 
25 all directions, and these speedily died away in silence. 
No other sounds were heard save the voices of the menials 
who stripped the galleries of their cushions and tapestry, 
in order to put them in safety for the night, and wrangled 
among themselves for the half-used bottles of wine and 
30 relics of the refreshment which had been served round 
to the spectators. 

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge 
was erected; and these now began to glimmer through the 
twilight, announcing the toil of the armorers, which was 
35 to continue through the whole night, in order to repair or 
alter the suits of armor to be used again on the morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, 
from two hours to two hours, surrounded the lists, and 
kept watch during the night. 


CHAPTER X 


Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls 
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak, 

And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings ; 

Vex’d and tormented, runs poor Barrabas, 

With fatal curses towards these Christians. 

Jew of Malta. 

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his pa- 
vilion than squires and pages in abundance tendered their 
services to disarm him, to bring fresh attire, and to offer 
him the refreshment of the bath. Their zeal on this oc- 
casion was perhaps sharpened by curiosity, since every 
one desired to know who the knight was that had gained 
so many laurels, yet had refused, even at the command 
of Prince John, to lift his visor or to name his name. 
But their officious inquisitiveness was not gratified. The 
Disinherited Knight refused all other assistance save that 
of his own squire, or rather yeoman — a clownish-looking 
man, .who, wrapped in a cloak of dark-colored felt, and 
having his head and face half-buried in a Norman bonnet 
made of black fur, seemed to affect the incognito as 
much as his master. All others being excluded from the 
tent, this attendant relieved his master from the more 
burdensome parts of his armor, and placed food and 
wine before him, which the exertions of the day rendered 
very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal ere his 
menial announced to him that five men, each leading a 
barbed steed, desired to speak with him. The Disin- 
herited Knight had exchanged his armor for the long 
robe usually worn by those of his condition, which, being 

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furnished with a hood, concealed the features, when such 
was the pleasure of the wearer, almost as completely as 
the visor of the helmet itself ; but the twilight, which 
was now fast darkening, would of itself have rendered 
5 a disguise unnecessary, unless to persons to whom the 
face of an individual chanced to be particularly well 
known. 

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stepped boldly forth 
to the front of his tent, and found in attendance the 
10 squires of the challengers, whom he easily knew by their 
russet and black dresses, each of whom led his master’s 
charger, loaded with the armor in which he had that day 
fought. 

“ According to the laws of chivalry,” said the fore- 
15 most of these men, “ I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the 
redoubted Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make offer to 
you, styling yourself for the present the Disinherited 
Knight, of the horse and armor used by the said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert in this day’s passage of arms, leaving 
20 it with your nobleness to retain or to ransom the same, 
according to your pleasure; for such is the law of arms.” 

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula, 
and then stood to await the decision of the Disinherited 
Knight. 

25 “ To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing 

those who had last spoken, “ and to your honorable and 
valiant masters, I have one common reply. Commend me 
to the noble knights, your masters, and say, I should do 
ill to deprive them of steeds and arms which can never 
30 be used by braver cavaliers. I would I could here end 
my message to these gallant knights; but being, as I 
term myself, in truth and earnest the Disinherited, I 
must be thus far bound to your masters, that they will, 
of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom their steeds and 
35 armor, since that which I wear I can hardly term mine 
own.” 

“ We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered the 
squire of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, “ to offer a hundred 
zecchins in ransom of these horses and suits of armor.” 


Ivanhoe 


n 3 

“ It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight. “ Half 
the sum my present necessities compel me to accept; of 
the remaining half, distribute one moiety among your- 
selves, sir squires, and divide the other half betwixt 
the heralds and the pursuivants, and minstrels, and at- 
tendants.” 

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, ex- 
pressed their deep sense of a courtesy and generosity 
not often practiced, at least upon a scale so extensive. 
The Disinherited Knight then addressed his discourse 
to Baldwin, the squire of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. “ From 
your master,” said he, “ I will accept neither arms nor 
ransom. Say to him in my name, that our strife is not 
ended — no, not till we have fought as well with swords 
as with lances, as well on foot as on horseback. To this 
mortal quarrel he has himself defied me, and I shall 
not forget the challenge. Meantime, let him be assured 
that I hold him not as one of his companions, with 
whom I can with pleasure exchange courtesies ; but 
rather as one with whom I stand upon terms of mortal 
defiance.” 

“ My master,” answered Baldwin, “ knows how to re- 
quite scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well 
as courtesy with courtesy. Since you disdain to accept 
from him any share of the ransom at which you have 
rated the arms of the other knights, I must leave his 
armor and his horse here, being well assured that he will 
never deign to mount the one or wear the other.” 

“ You have spoken well, good squire,” said the Disin- 
herited Knight — “ well and boldly, as it beseemeth him 
to speak who answers for an absent master. Leave not, 
however, the horse and armor here. Restore them to 
thy master; or, if he scorns to accept them, retain them, 
good friend, for thine own use. So far as they are mine, 
I bestow them upon you freely.” 

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his 
companions; and the Disinherited Knight entered the pa- 
vilion. 

“ Thus far, Gurth,” said he, addressing his attendant, 


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i 14 Ivanhoe 

“ the reputation of English chivalry hath not suffered in 
my hands.” 

“ And I,” said Gurth, “ for a Saxon swineherd, have 
not ill played the personage of a Norman squire-at- 
5 arms.” 

“ Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight, “ thou 
hast ever kept me in anxiety least thy clownish bearing 
- should discover thee.” 

“ Tush ! ” said Gurth, “ I fear discovery from none, 
10 saving my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom 
I could never discover whether he were most knave 
or fool. Yet I could scarce choose but laugh, when 
my old master passed so near to me, dreaming all 
the while that Gurth was keeping his porkers many a 
15 mile off, in the thickets and swamps of Rotherwood. 
If I am discovered — ” 

“ Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ thou know- 
est my promise.” 

“ Nay, for that matter,” said Gurth, “ I will never fail 
20 my friend for fear of my skin-cutting. I have a tough 
hide, that will bear knife or scourge as well as any 
boar’s hide in my herd.” 

“ Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my 
love, Gurth,” said the Knight. “ Meanwhile, I pray you 
25 to accept these ten pieces of gold.” 

“ I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his pouch, 
“ than ever was swineherd or bondsman.” 

“ Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his mas- 
ter, “ and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let him pay 
30 himself for the horse and arms with which his credit 
supplied me.” 

“ Nay, by St. Dunstan,” replied Gurth, “that I will 
not do.” 

“ How, knave,” replied his master, “ wilt thou not obey 
35 my commands ? ” 

“ So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian com- 
mands,” replied Gurth ; “ but this is none of these. To 
suffer the Jew to pay himself would be dishonest, for it 
would be cheating my master; and unreasonable, for it 


Ivanhoe 


115 

were the part of a fool; and unchristian, since it would 
be plundering a believer to enrich an infidel.” 

“ See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,” 
said the Disinherited Knight. 

“ I will do so,” said Gurth, taking the bag under his 5 
cloak and leaving the apartment ; “ and it will go hard,” 
he muttered, “ but I content him with one-half of his 
own asking.” So saying, he departed, and left the Dis- 
inherited Knight to his own perplexed ruminations, which, 
upon more accounts than it is now possible to communi- 10 
cate to the reader, were of a nature peculiarly agitating 
and painful. 

We must now change the scene to the village of Ashby, 
or rather to a country house in its vicinity belonging to 15 
a wealthy Israelite, with whom Isaac, his daughter, and 
retinue had taken up their quarters; the Jews, it is well 
known, being as liberal in exercising the duties of hos- 
pitality and charity among their ow-n people as they were 
alleged to be reluctant and churlish in extending them 20 
to those whom they termed Gentiles, and whose treat- 
ment of them certainly merited little hospitality at their 
hand. 

In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished 
with decorations of an Oriental taste, Rebecca was seated 25 
on a heap of embroidered cushions, which, piled along a 
low platform that surrounded the chamber, served, like % 
the estrada of the Spaniards, instead of chairs and stools. ^ 
She was watching the motions of her father with a look 
of anxious and filial affection, while he paced the apart- 30 
ment with a dejected mien and disordered step, sometimes 
clasping his hands together, sometimes casting his eyes 
to the roof of the apartment, as one who labored under 
great mental tribulation. “ O, Jacob!” he exclaimed — 

“ O, all ye twelve Holy Fathers of our tribe ! what a 35 
losing venture is this for one who hath duly kept every 
jot and tittle of the law of Moses! Fifty zecchins 
wrenched from me at one clutch, and by the talons of a 
tyrant ! ” 


Ivanhoe 


ii 6 


“ But, father,” said Rebecca, “ you seemed to give the 
gold to Prince John willingly.” 

“ Willingly ! the blotch of Egypt upon him ! Willingly, 
saidst thou? Aye, as willingly as when, in the Gulf of 
5 Lyons, I flung over my merchandise to lighten the ship, 
while she labored in the tempest — robed the seething 
billows in my choice silks — perfumed their briny foam 
with myrrh and aloes — enriched their caverns with gold 
and silver work ! And was not that an hour of unutter- 
10 able misery, though my own hands made the sacrifice ? ” 

“ But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save 
our lives,” answered Rebecca, “ and the God of our 
fathers has since blessed your store and your gettings.” 

“ Aye,” answered Isaac, “ but if the tyrant lays hold on 
15 them as he did to-day, and compels me to smile while 
he is robbing me? O, daughter, disinherited and wan- 
dering as we are, the worst evil which befalls our race 
is, that when we are wronged and plundered all the world 
laughs around, and we are compelled to suppress our 
20 sense of injury, and to smile tamely when we would re- 
venge bravely.” 

“ Think not thus of it, my father,” said Rebecca ; “ we 
also have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and oppres- 
sive as they are, are in some sort dependent on the dis- 
25 persed children of Zion, whom they despise and perse- 
cute. Without the aid of our wealth they could neither 
furnish forth their hosts in war nor their triumphs in 
peace; and the gold which we lend them returns with 
increase to our coffers. We are like the herb which 
30 flourisheth most when it is most trampled on. Even 
this day’s pageant had not proceeded without the con- 
sent of the despised Jew, who furnished the means.” 

“ Daughter,” said Isaac, “ thou hast harped upon an- 
other string of sorrow. The goodly steed and the rich 
35 armor, equal to the full profit of my adventure with our 
Kirjath Jairam of Leicester — there is a dead loss too — 
aye, a loss which swallows up the gains of a week — aye, 
of the space between two Sabaoths — and yet it may end 
better than I now think, for ’tis a good youth.” 


Ivanhoe 


nj 

“ Assuredly,” said Rebecca, “ you shall not repent you 
of requiting the good deed received of the stranger 
knight.” 

“ I trust so, daughter,” said Isaac, “ and I trust too in 
the rebuilding of Zion; but as well do I hope with my 
own bodily eyes to see the walls and battlements of the 
new Temple, as to see a Christian, yea, the very best of 
Christians, repay a debt to a Jew, unless under the awe 
of the judge and jailer.” 

So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through 
the apartment ; and Rebecca, perceiving that her attempts 
at consolation only served to awaken new subjects of com- 
plaint, wisely desisted from her unavailing efforts — a 
prudential line of condu'£^$Od we recommend to all who 
set up for comforters ana advisers to follow it in the 
like circumstances. 

The evening was now becoming dark, when a Jewish 
servant entered the apartment and placed upon, the table 
two silver lamps, fed with perfumed oil ; the richest wines 
and the most delicate refreshments were at the same 
time displayed by another Israelitish domestic on a small 
ebony table, inlaid with silver ; for, in the interior of 
their houses, the Jews refused themselves no expensive 
indulgences. At the same time the servant informed 
Isaac that a Nazarene (so they termed Christians while 
conversing among themselves) desired to speak with 
him. He that would live by traffic must hold himself 
at the disposal of every one claiming business with him. 
Isaac at once replaced on the table the untasted glass of 
Greek wine which he had just raised to his lips, and 
saying hastily to his daughter, “ Rebecca, veil thyself,” 
commanded the stranger to be admitted. 

Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine features a 
screen of silver gauze which reached to her feet, the 
door opened, and Gurth entered, wrapped in the ample 
folds of his Norman mantle. His appearance was 
rather suspicious than prepossessing, especially as, in- 
stead of doffing his bonnet, he pulled it still deeper over 
his rugged brow. 


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1 1 8 Ivanhoe 

“Art thou Isaac the Jew of York?” said Gurth, in 
Saxon. 

“I am,” replied Isaac, in the same language, for his 
traffic had rendered every tongue spoken in Britain fa- 
5 miliar to him, “ and who art thou ? ” 

“ That is not to the purpose,” answered Gurth. 

“ As much as my name is to thee,” replied Isaac ; “ for 
without knowing thine, how can I hold intercourse with 
thee ? ” 

10 “ Easily,” answered Gurth ; “ I, being to pay money, 

must know that I deliver it to the right person; thou, 
who art to receive it, wilt not, I think, care very greatly 
by whose hands it is delivered.” 

“ O,” said the Jew, “you p** come to pay moneys? 
15 Holy Father Abraham ! that aitereth our relation to each 
other. And from whom dost thou bring it ? ” 

“ From the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth, “ victor 
in this day’s tournament. It is the price of the armor 
supplied to him by Kirjath Jairam of Leicester, on thy 
20 recommendation. The steed is restored to thy stable. I 
desire to know the amount of the sum which I am to pay 
for the armor.” 

“ I said he was a good youth ! ” exclaimed Isaac, with 
joyful exultation. “ A cup of wine will do thee no 
25 harm,” he added, filling and handing to the swineherd a 
richer draught than Gurth had ever before tasted. “ And 
how much money,” continued Isaac, “hast thou brought 
with thee ? ” 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” said Gurth, setting down the cup, 
30 “ what nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while true 
Christians are fain to quaff ale as muddy and thick as 
the draff we give to hogs ! What money have I brought 
with me ? ” continued the Saxon, when he had finished 
this uncivil ejaculation, “even but a small sum; some- 
35 thing in hand the whilst. What, Isaac ! thou must bear 
a conscience, though it be a Jewish one.” 

“ Nay, but,” said Isaac, “ thy master has won goodly 
steeds and rich armors with the strength of his lance and 
of his right hand — but ’tis a good youth; the Jew will 


Ivanhoe 


119 

take these in present payment, and render him back the 
surplus.” 

“ My master has disposed of them already,” said Gurth. 

“Ah! that was wrong,” said the Jew — “that was the 
part of a fool. No Christian here could buy so many 
horses and armor; no Jew except myself would give him 
half the values. But thou hast a hundred zecchins with 
thee in that bag,” said Isaac, prying under Gurth’s cloak; 
“ it is a heavy one.” 

“I have heads for cross-bow bolts in it,” said Gurth, 
readily. 

“ Well, then,” said Isaac, panting and hesitating be- 
tween habitual love of gain and a new-born desire to be 
liberal in the present instance, “ if I should say that I 
would take eighty zecchins for the good steed and the 
rich armor, which leaves me not a guilder’s profit, have 
you money to pay me ? ” 

“ Barely,” said Gurth, though the sum demanded was 
more reasonable than he expected, “ and it will leave 
my master nigh penniless. Nevertheless, if such be your 
least offer, I must be content.” 

“ Fill thyself another goblet of wine,” said the Jew. 
“ Ah ! eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth no profit 
for the usages of the moneys ; and, besides, the good horse 
may have suffered wrong in this day’s encounter. O, it 
was a hard and a dangerous meeting! man and steed 
rushing on each other like wild bulls of Bashan ! the 
horse cannot but have had wrong.” 

“ And I say,” replied Gurth, “ he is sound, wind and 
limb; and you may see him now in your stable. And 
I say, over and above, that seventy zecchins is enough 
for the armor, and I hope a Christian’s word is as good 
as a Jew’s. If you will not take seventy, I will carry this 
bag (and he shook it till the contents jingled) back to 
my master.” 

“Nay, nay!” said Isaac; “lay down the talents — the 
shekels — the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt see I will 
consider thee liberally.” 

Gurth at length complied; and telling out eighty zec- 


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Ivanhoe 


chins upon the table, the Jew delivered out to him an 
acquittance for the horse and suit of armor. The Jew’s 
hand trembled for joy as he wrapped up the first seventy 
pieces of gold. The last ten he told over with much 
5 deliberation, pausing, and saying something as he took 
each piece from the table and dropped it into his purse. 
It seemed as if his avarice were struggling with his 
better nature, and compelling him to pouch zecchin after 
zecchin, while his generosity urged him to restore some 
10 part at least to his benefactor, or as a donation to his 
, agent. His whole speech ran nearly thus: 

“ Seventy-one, seventy-two — thy master is a good 
youth — seventy-three — an excellent youth — seventy- 
four — that piece hath been clipped within the ring — 
15 seventy-five — and that looketh light of weight — seventy- 
six — when thy master wants money, let him come to 
Isaac of York — seventy-seven — that is, with reason- 
able security.” Here he made a considerable pause, and 
Gurth had good hope that the last three pieces might es- 
20 cape the fate of their comrades; but the enumeration 
proceeded — “ Seventy-eight — thou art a good fellow — 
seventy-nine — and deservest something for thyself — ” 

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last 
zecchin, intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth. 
25 He weighed it upon the tip of his finger, and made it ring 
by dropping it upon the table. Had it rung too flat, or 
had it felt a hair’s breadth too light, generosity had car- 
ried the day ; but, unhappily for Gurth, the chime was full 
and true, the zecchin plump, newly coined, and a grain 
30 above weight. Isaac could not find in his heart to part 
with it, so dropped it into his purse as if in absence of 
mind, with the words, “ Eighty completes the tale, and I 
trust thy master will reward thee handsomely. Surely,” 
he added, looking earnestly at the bag, “ thou hast more 
35 coins in that pouch ? ” 

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach to a 
laugh, as he replied, “ About the same quantity which 
thou hast just told over so carefully.” He then folded 


Ivanhoe 


I 2 I 


the quittance, and put it under his cap, adding, “ Peril of 
thy beard, Jew, see that this be full and ample ! ” He 
filled himself, unbidden, a third goblet of wine, and left 
the apartment without ceremony. 

“ Rebecca,” said the Jew, “ that Ishmaelite hath gone 
somewhat beyond me. Nevertheless, his master is a 
good youth; aye, and I am well pleased that he hath 
gained shekels of gold and shekels of silver, even by the 
speed of his horse and by the strength of his lance, 
which, like that of Goliath the Philistine, might vie with 
a weaver’s beam.” 

As he turned to receive Rebecca’s answer, he observed 
that during his chaffering with Gurth she had left the 
apartment unperceived. 

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair, and, 
having reached the dark ante-chamber or hall, was puz- 
zling about to discover the entrance, when a figure in 
white, shown by a small silver lamp which she held in 
her hand, beckoned him into a side apartment. Gurth 
had some reluctance to obey the summons. Rough and 
impetuous as a wild boar where only earthly force was 
to be apprehended, he had all the characteristic terrors 
of a Saxon respecting fauns, forest fiends, white women, 
and the whole of the superstitions which his ancestors 
had brought with them from the wilds of Germany. He 
remembered, moreover, that he was in the house of a 
Jew, a people who, besides the other unamiable qualities 
which popular report ascribed to them, were supposed 
to be profound necromancers and cabalists. Neverthe- 
less, after a moment’s pause, he obeyed the beckoning 
summons of the apparition, and followed her into the 
apartment which she indicated, where he found, to his 
joyful surprise, that his fair guide was the beautiful 
Jewess whom he had seen at the tournament, and a short 
time in her father’s apartment. 

She asked him the particulars of his transaction with 
Isaac, which he detailed accurately. 

“ My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,” said 


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122 


Ivanhoe 


Rebecca ; “ he owes thy master deeper kindness than these 
arms and steed could pay, were their value tenfold. What 
sum didst thou pay my father even now ? ” 

“ Eighty zecchins,” said Gurth, surprised at the question. 
5 “ In this purse,” said Rebecca, “ thou wilt find a hun- 

dred. Restore to thy master that which is his due, and 
enrich thyself with the remainder. Haste — begone — 
stay not to render thanks ! and beware how you pass 
through this crowded town, where thou mayst easily lose 
10 both thy burden and thy life. Reuben,” she added, clap- 
ping her hands together, “ light forth this stranger, and 
fail not to draw lock and bar behind him.” 

Reuben, a dark-browed and black-bearded Israelite, 
obeyed her summons, with a torch in his hand; undid the 
15 outward door of the house, and conducting Gurth across 
a paved court, let him out through a wicket in the en- 
trance-gate, which he closed behind him with such bolts 
and chains as would well have become that of a prison. 

“ By St. Dunstan,” said Gurth, as he stumbled up the 
20 dark avenue, “ this is no Jewess, but an angel from 
heaven ! Ten zecchins from my brave young master — 
twenty from this pearl of Zion ! Oh, happy day ! Such 
another, Gurth, will redeem thy bondage, and make thee 
a brother as free of thy guild as the best. And then do 
25 I lay down my swineherd’s horn and staff, and take the 
freeman’s sword and buckler, and follow my young mas- 
ter to the death, without hiding either my face or my 
name.” 


CHAPTER XI 

ist Outlaw. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have 
about you ; 

If not, we’ll make you sit, and rifle you. 

Speed. Sir, we are undone! these are the villains 

That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends — 

i st Out. That’s not so, sir, we are your enemies. 

2d Out. Peace ! we’ll hear him. 

3d Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; 

For he’s a proper man. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet con- 
cluded; indeed, he himself became partly of that mind 
when, after passing one or two straggling houses which 
stood in the outskirts of the village, he found himself 
in a deep lane, running between two banks overgrown 5 
with hazel and holly, while here and there a dwarf oak 
flung its arms altogether across the path. The lane was, 
moreover, much rutted and broken up by the carriages 
which had recently transported articles of various kinds 
to the tournament; and it was dark, for the banks and 10 
bushes intercepted the light of the harvest moon. 

From the village were heard the distant sounds of 
revelry, mixed occasionally with loud laughter, some- 
times broken by screams, and sometimes by wild strains 
of distant music. All these sounds, intimating the dis- 15 
orderly state of the town, crowded with military nobles 
and their dissolute attendants, gave Gurth some uneasi- 
ness. “ The Jewess was right,” he said to himself. “ By 
heaven and St. Dunstan, I would I were safe at my 
journey’s end with all this treasure! Here are such 20 
numbers, I will not say of arrant thieves, but of errant 

123 


Ivanhoe 


124 

knights and errant squires, errant monks and errant 
minstrels, errant jugglers and errant jesters, that a man 
with a single merk would be in danger, much more a 
poor swineherd with a whole bagful of zecchins. Would 
5 I were out of the shade of these infernal bushes, that I 
might at least see any of St. Nicholas’s clerks before they 
spring on my shoulders ! ” 

Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to gain 
the open common to which the lane led, but was not so 
10 fortunate as to accomplish his object. Just as he had 
attained the upper end of the lane, where the under- 
wood was thickest, four men sprung upon him, even as 
his fears anticipated, two from each side of the road, 
and seized him so fast that resistance, if at first prac- 
15 ticable, would have been now too late. “ Surrender your 
charge,” said one of them ; “ we are the deliverers of the 
commonwealth, who ease every man of his burden.” 

“ You should not ease me of mine so lightly,” mut- 
tered Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be tamed even 
20 by the pressure of immediate violence, “ had I it but in my 
power to give three strokes in its defense.” 

“We shall see that presently,” said the robber; and, 
speaking to his companions, he added, “ bring along the 
knave. I see he would have his head broken as well as 
25 his purse cut, and so be let blood in two veins at once.” 

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate, 
and having been dragged somewhat roughly over the 
bank on the left-hand side of the lane, found himself in 
a straggling thicket, which lay betwixt it and the open 
30 common. He was compelled to follow his rough con- 
ductors into the very depth of this cover, where they 
stopped unexpectedly in an irregular open space, free in 
a great measure from trees, and on which, therefore, 
the beams of the moon fell without much interruption 
35 from boughs and leaves. Here his captors were joined 
by two other persons, apparently belonging to the gang. 
They had short swords by their sides, and quarter-staves 
in their hands, and Gurth could now observe that all 
six wore visors, which rendered their occupation a matter 


Ivanhoe 


I2 5 

of no question, even had their former proceedings left it in 
doubt. 

“What money hast thou, churl?” said one of the 
thieves. 

“ Thirty zecchins of my own property,” answered Gurth, 5 
doggedly. 

“ A forfeit — a forfeit,” shouted the robbers ; “ a 
Saxon hath thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a 
village ! An undeniable and unredeemable forfeit of all 
he hath about him.” 10 

“ I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,” said Gurth. > 

“ Thou art an ass,” replied one of the thieves ; “ three 
quarts of double ale had rendered thee as free as thy 
master, aye, and freer too, if he be a Saxon like thyself.” 

“ A sad truth,” replied Gurth ; “ but if these same thirty 15 
zecchins will buy my freedom from you, unloose my 
hands and I will pay them to you.” 

“ Hold,” said one who seemed to exercise some author- 
ity over the others ; “ this bag which thou bearest, as I 
can feel through thy cloak, contains more coin than thou 20 
hast told us of.” 

“ It is the good knight my master’s,” answered Gurth, 

“ of which, assuredly, I would not have spoken a word, 
had you been satisfied with working your will upon mine 
own property.” 25 

“ Thou art an honest fellow,” replied the robber, “ I 
warrant thee; and we worship not St. Nicholas so de- 
voutly but what thy thirty zecchins may yet escape, if 
thou deal uprightly with us. Meantime, render up thy 
trust for the time.” So saying, he took from Gurth’s 30 
breast the large leathern pouch, in which the purse given 
him by Rebecca was inclosed, as well as the rest of the 
zecchins, and then continued his interrogation — “ Who 
is thy master ? ” 

“ The Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth. • 35 

“ Whose good lance,” replied the robber, “ won the 
prize in to-day’s tourney? What is his name and lin- 
eage ? ” 

“ It is his pleasure,” answered Gurth, “ that they be 


126 Ivanhoe 

concealed; and from me, assuredly, you will learn nought 
of them.” 

“ What is thine own name and lineage ? ” 

“ To tell that,” said Gurth, “ might reveal my master's.” 
5 “ Thou art a saucy groom,” said the robber ; “ but of 

that anon. How comes thy master by this gold? is it of 
his inheritance, or by what means hath it accrued to him ? ” 

“ By his good lance,” answered Gurth. “ These bags 
contain the ransom of four good horses and four good 
10 suits of armor.” 

“ How much is there ? ” demanded the robber. 

“ Two hundred zecchins.” 

“ Only two hundred zecchins ! ” said the bandit ; “ your 
master hath dealt liberally by the vanquished, and put 
15 them to a cheap ransom. Name those who paid the 
gold.” 

Gurth did so. 

“ The armor and horse of the Templar Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert — at what ransom were they held ? Thou seest 
20 thou canst not deceive me.” 

“ My master,” replied Gurth, “ will take nought from 
the Templar save his life’s-blood. They are on terms of 
mortal defiance, and cannot hold courteous intercourse 
together.” 

25 “ Indeed ! ” repeated the robber, and paused after he 

had said the word. “ And what wert thou now doing at 
Ashby with such a charge in thy custody?” 

“ I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of York,” 
replied Gurth, “ the price of a suit of armor with which 
30 he fitted my master for this tournament.” 

“ And how much didst thou pay to Isaac ? Methinks, 
to judge by weight, there is still two hundred zecchins 
in this pouch.” 

“ I paid to Isaac,” said the Saxon, “ eighty zecchins, 
35 and he restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.” 

“ How ! what ! ” exclaimed all the robbers at once ; 
“ darest thou trifle with us, that thou tellest such im- 
probable lies?” 

“What I tell you,” said Gurth, “is as true as the 


Ivanhoe 


127 

moon is in heaven. You will find the just sum in a silken 
purse within the leathern pouch, and separate from the 
rest of the gold.” 

“ Bethink thee, man,” said the Captain, “ thou speakest 
of a Jew — of an Israelite, as unapt to restore gold as the 
dry sand of his deserts to return the cup of water which 
the pilgrim spills upon them.” 

“ There is no more mercy in them,” said another of the 
banditti, “ than in an unbribed sheriff’s officer.” 

“ It is, however, as I say,” said Gurth. 

“ Strike a light instantly,” said the Captain ; “ I will 
examine this said purse; and if it be as this fellow says, 
the Jew’s bounty is little less miraculous than the stream 
which relieved his fathers in the wilderness.” 

A light was procured accordingly, and the robber 
proceeded to examine the purse. The others crowded 
around him, and even two who had hold of Gurth relaxed 
their grasp while they stretched their necks to see the 
issue of the search. Availing himself of their negli- 
gence, by a sudden exertion of strength and activity 
Gurth shook himself free of their hold, and might have 
escaped, could he have resolved to leave his master’s prop- 
erty behind him. But such was no part of his intention. 
He wrenched a quarter-staff from one of the fel- 
lows, struck down the Captain, who was altogether un- 
aware of his purpose, and had wellnigh repossessed him- 
self of the pouch and treasure. The thieves, however, 
were too nimble for him, and again secured both the bag 
and the trusty Gurth. 

“ Knave ! ” said the Captain, getting up, “ thou hast 
broken my head, and with other men of our sort thou 
wouldst fare the worse for thy insolence. But thou 
shalt know thy fate instantly. First let us speak of thy 
master; the knight’s matters must go before the squire’s, 
according to the due order of chivalry. Stand thou fast 
in the meantime ; if thou stir again, thou shalt have 
that will make thee quiet for thy life. Comrades ! ” he then 
said, addressing his gang, “ this purse is embroidered 
with Hebrew characters, and I well believe the yeoman’s 


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tale is true. The errant knight, his master, must needs 
pass us toll-free. He is too like ourselves for us to 
make booty of him, since dogs should not worry dogs 
where wolves and foxes are to be found in abundance.’’ 

5 “ Like us ! ” answered one of the gang; “ I should like 

to hear how that is made good.” 

“ Why, thou fool,” answered the Captain, “ is he not 
poor and disinherited as we are? Doth he not win his 
substance at the sword’s point as we do? Hath he not 
10 beaten Front-de-Bceuf and Malvoisin, even as we would 
beat them if we could? Is he not the enemy to life and 
death of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom we have so much 
reason to fear? And were all this otherwise, wouldst 
thou -have us show a worse conscience than an unbe^ 
15 liever, a Hebrew Jew? ” 

“ Nay, that were a shame,” muttered the other fellow; 
“ and yet, when I served in the band of stout old Gan- 
delyn, we had no such scruples of conscience. And this 
insolent peasant — he too, I warrant me, is to be dis- 
20 missed scathless ? ” 

“ Not if thou canst scathe him,” replied the Captain. 
“ Here, fellow,” continued he, addressing Gurth, “ canst 
thou use the staff, that thou startst to it so readily ? ” 

“ I think,” said Gurth, “ thou shouldst be best able to 
25 reply to that question.” 

“ Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round knock,” 
replied the Captain ; “ do as much for this fellow, and 
thou shalt pass scot-free; and if thou dost not — why, 
by my faith, as thou art such a sturdy knave, I think I must 
30 pay thy ransom myself. Take thy staff, Miller,” he 
added, “and keep thy head; and do you others let the 
fellow go, and give him a staff — there is light enough 
to lay on load by.” 

The two champions, being alike armed with quar- 
35 ter-staves, stepped forward into the center of the open 
space, in order to have the full benefit of the moonlight; 
the thieves in the meantime laughing, and crying to their 
comrade, “ Miller ! beware thy toll-dish.” The Miller, on 
the other hand, holding his quarter-staff by the middle, 


Ivanhoe 


129 

and making it flourish round his head after the fashion 
which the French call faire le monlinet, exclaimed boast- 
fully, “ Come on, churl, an thou darest : thou shalt feel 
the strength of a miller’s thumb ! ” 

“If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, undauntedly, 
making his weapon play around his head with equal dex- 
terity, “ thou art doubly a thief, and I, as a true man, bid 
thee defiance.” 

So saying, the two champions closed together, and for 
a few minutes they displayed great equality in strength, 
courage, and skill, intercepting and returning the blows 
of their adversary with the most rapid dexterity, while, 
from the continued clatter of their weapons a person at a 
distance might have supposed that there were at least 
six persons engaged on each side. Less obstinate, and 
even less dangerous, combats have been described in good 
heroic verse; but that of Gurth and the Miller must re- 
main unsung, for want of a sacred poet to do justice to 
its eventful progress. Yet, though quarter-staff play be 
out of date, what we can in prose we will do for these 
bold champions. 

Long they fought equally, until the Miller began to 
lose temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed, and at 
hearing the laughter of his companions, who, as usual 
in such cases, enjoyed his vexation. This was not a 
state of mind favorable to the noble game of quarter- 
staff, in which, as in ordinary cudgel-playing, the utmost 
coolness is requisite; and it gave Gurth, whose temper 
was steady, though surly, the opportunity of acquiring a 
decided advantage, in availing himself of which he dis- 
played great mastery. 

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing blows 
with either end of his weapon alternately, and striving 
to come to half-staff distance, while Gurth defended him- 
self against the attack, keeping his hands about a yard 
asunder, and covering himself by shifting his weapon 
with great celerity, so as to protect his head and body. 
Thus did he maintain the defensive, making his eye, 
foot, and hand keep true time, until, observing his an- 


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tagonist to lose wind, he darted the staff at his face with 
his left hand ; and, as the Miller endeavored to parry the 
thrust, he slid his right hand down to his left, and with the 
full swing of the weapon struck his opponent on the left 
5 side of the head, who instantly measured his length upon 
the green sward. 

“ Well and yeomanly done ! ” shouted the robbers ; 
“ fair play and Old England forever ! The Saxon has 
saved both his purse and his hide, and the Miller has met 
10 his match.” 

“ Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,” said the Cap- 
tain, addressing Gurth, in special confirmation of the gen- 
eral voice, “ and I will cause two of my comrades to 
guide thee by the best way to thy master’s pavilion, and 
15 to guard thee from night-walkers that might have less 
tender consciences than ours; for there is many one of 
them upon the amble in such a night as this. Take heed, 
however,” he added sternly ; “ remember thou hast re- 
fused to tell thy name; ask not after ours, nor endeavor 
20 to discover who or what we are, for, if thou makest such 
an attempt, thou wilt come by worse fortune than has yet 
befallen thee.” 

Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and 
promised to attend to his recommendation. Two of the 
25 outlaws, taking up their quarter-staves, and desiring 
Gurth to follow close in the rear, walked roundly forward 
along a by-path, which traversed the thicket and the 
broken ground adjacent to it. On the very verge of the 
thicket two men spoke to his conductors, and receiving 
30 an answer in a whisper, withdrew into the wood, and 
suffered them to pass unmolested. This circumstance 
Induced Gurth to believe both that the gang was strong in 
numbers, and that they kept regular guards around their 
place of rendezvous. 

35 When they arrived on the open heath, where Gurth 
might have had some trouble in finding his road, the 
thieves guided him straight forward to the top of a little 
eminence, whence he could see, spread beneath him in the 
moonlight, the palisades of the lists, the glimmering pa- 


Ivanhoe 


I 3 I 

vilions pitched at either end, with the pennons which 
adorned them fluttering in the moonbeam, and from 
which could be heard the hum of the song with which 
the sentinels were beguiling their night-watch. 

Here the thieves stopped. 

“We go with you no farther,” said they; “it were 
not safe that we should do so. Remember the warning 
you have received: keep secret what has this night be- 
fallen you, and you will have no room to repent it ; 
neglect what is now told you, and the Tower of London 
shall not protect you against our revenge.” 

“ Good-night to you, kind sirs,” said Gurth ; “ I shall 
remember your orders, and trust that there is no offense 
in wishing you a safer and an honester trade.” 

Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the direc- 
tion from whence they had come, and Gurth proceeding 
to the tent of his master, to whom, notwithstanding the 
injunction he had received, he communicated the whole 
adventures of the evening. 

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment, 
no less at the generosity of Rebecca, by which, however, 
he resolved he would not profit, than that of the robbers, 
to whose profession such a quality seemed .totally for- 
eign. His course of reflections upon these singular cir- 
cumstances was, however, interrupted by the necessity 
for taking repose, which the fatigue of the preceding day 
and the propriety of refreshing himself for the morrow’s 
encounter rendered alike indispensable. 

The knight, therefore, stretched himself for repose 
upon a rich couch with which the tent was provided; 
and the faithful Gurth, extending his hardy limbs upon 
a bear-skin which formed a sort of carpet to the pavilion, 
laid himself across the opening of the tent, so that no one 
could enter without awakening him. 


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CHAPTER XII 


The heralds left their pricking up and down, 

Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion. 

There is no more to say, but east and west, 

In go the speares sadly in the rest, 

In goth the sharp spur into the side, 

There see men who can just and who can ride; 

There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick, 

He feeleth through the heart-spone the prick; 

Up springen speares, twenty feet in height, 

Out go the swordes to the silver bright; 

The helms they to-hewn and to-shred; 

Out bursts the blood with stern streames red. 

Chaucer. 

Morning arose in unclouded splendor, and ere the sun 
was much above the horizon the idlest or the most eager 
of the spectators appeared on the common, moving to the 
lists as to a general center, in order to secure a favor- 
5 able situation for viewing the continuation of the ex- 
pected games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on 
the field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of 
receiving the names of the knights who intended to joust, 
10 with the side which each chose to espouse. This was a 
necessary precaution, in order to secure equality betwixt 
the two bodies who should be opposed to each other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight 
was to be considered as leader of the one body, while 
15 Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had been rated as having 
done second-best in the preceding day, was named first 
champion of the other band. Those who had concurred 
in the challenge adhered to his party, of course, except- 
ing only Ralph de Vipont, whom his fall had rendered 

132 


Ivanhoe 


*33 

unfit so soon to put on his armor. There was no want 
of distinguished and noble candidates to fill up the ranks 
on either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single 
encounters, they' were, nevertheless, more frequented and 
practiced by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who 
had not sufficient confidence in their own skill to defy 
a single adversary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, 
desirous of displaying their valor in the general combat, 
where they might meet others with whom they were 
more upon an equality. On the present occasion, about 
fifty knights were inscribed as desirous of combating 
upon each side, when the marshals declared that no more 
could be admitted, to the disappointment of several who 
were too late in preferring their claim to be included. 

About the hour of ten o’clock the whole plain was 
crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passen- 
gers, hastening to the tournament; and shortly after, a 
grand flourish of trumpets announced Prince John and 
his retinue, attended by many of those knights who meant 
to take share in the game, as well as others who had no 
such intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with 
the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. 
This Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person 
in armor, in order to take his place among the com- 
batants; and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, had 
chosen to enlist himself on the part of the Knight Tem- 
plar. The Saxon, indeed, had remonstrated strongly 
with his friend upon the injudicious choice he had made 
of his party; but he had only received that sort of an- 
swer usually given by those who are more obstinate in 
following their own course than strong in justifying it. 

His best, if not his only, reason for adhering to the 
party of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the 
prudence to keep to himself. Though his apathy of dis- 
position prevented his taking any means to recommend 
himself to the Lady Rowena, he was, nevertheless, by no 


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means insensible to her charms, and considered his union 
with her as a matter already fixed beyond doubt by the 
assent of Cedric and her other friends. It had there- 
fore been with smothered displeasure that the proud 
5 though indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor 
of the preceding day select Rowena as the object of that 
honor which it became his privilege to confer. In order 
to punish him for a preference which seemed to inter- 
fere with his own suit, Athelstane, confident bf his 
10 strength, and to whom his flatterers, at least, ascribed 
great skill in arms, had determined not only to deprive 
the Disinherited Knight of his powerful succor, but, if 
an opportunity should occur, to make him feel the weight 
of his battle-ax. 

15 De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, 
in obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party of 
the challengers, John being desirous to secure, if possible, 
the victory to that side. On the other hand, many other 
knights, both English and Norman, natives and strangers, 
20 took part against the challengers, the more readily that 
the opposite band was to be led by so distinguished a 
champion as the Disinherited Knight had approved him- 
self. 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined 
25 Queen of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming 
that air of courtesy which sat well upon him when he 
was pleased to exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, 
doffed his bonnet, and, alighting from his horse, assisted 
the Lady Rowena from her saddle, while his followers 
30 uncovered at the same time, and one of the most dis- 
tinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 

“ It is thus,” said Prince John, “ that we set the duti- 
ful example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, 
and are ourselves her guide to the throne which she must 
35 this day occupy. Ladies,” he said, “ attend your Queen, 
as you wish in your turn to be distinguished by like hon- 
ors.” 

So saying, the Prince marshaled Rowena to the seat 
of honor opposite his own, while the fairest and most 


Ivanhoe 


*35 

distinguished ladies present crowded after her to obtain 
places as near as possible to their temporary sovereign. 

No sooner was Rowena seated than a burst of music, 
half-drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her 
new dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright 
upon the polished arms of the knights of either side, who 
crowded the opposite extremities of the lists, and held 
eager conference together concerning the best mode of 
arranging their line of battle and supporting the conflict. 

The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of 
the tourney should be rehearsed. These were calculated 
in some degree to abate the dangers of the day — a pre- 
caution the more necessary as the conflict was to be 
maintained with sharp swords and pointed lances. 

The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust 
with the sword, and were confined to striking. A knight, 
it was announced, might use a mace or battle-ax at pleas- 
ure; but the dagger was a prohibited weapon. A knight 
unhorsed might renew the fight on foot with any other 
on the opposite side in the same predicament ; but mounted 
horsemen were in that case forbidden to assail him. 
When any knight could force his antagonist to the ex- 
tremity of the lists, so as to touch the palisade with his 
person or arms, such opponent was obliged jto yield him- 
self vanquished, and his armor and horse were placed 
at the disposal of the conqueror. A knight thus over- 
come was not permitted to take farther share in the com- 
bat. If any combatant was struck down, and unable to 
recover his feet, his squire or page might enter the lists 
and drag his master out of the press ; but in that case the 
knight was adjudged vanquished, and his arms and horse 
declared forfeited. The combat was to cease as soon as 
Prince John should throw down his leading staff, or 
truncheon — another precaution usually taken to pre- 
vent the unnecessary effusion of blood by the too long 
endurance of a sport so desperate. Any knight break- 
ing the rules of the tournament, or otherwise transgress- 
ing the rules of honorable chivalry, was liable to be 
stripped of his arms, and, having his shield reversed, to 


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be placed in that posture astride upon the bars of the 
palisade, and exposed to public derision, in punishment of 
his unknightly conduct. Having announced these pre- 
cautions, the heralds concluded with an exhortation to 
5 each good knight to do his duty, and to merit favor from 
the Queen of Beauty and Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds with- 
drew to their stations. The knights, entering at either 
end of the lists in long procession, arranged themselves in 
10 a double file, precisely opposite to each other, the leader 
of each party being in the center of the foremost rank, a 
post which he did not occupy until each had carefully 
arranged the ranks of his party, and stationed every one 
in his place. 

15 It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, 
sight to behold so many gallant champions, mounted 
bravely and armed richly, stand ready prepared for an 
encounter so formidable, seated on their war-saddles like 
so many pillars of iron, and awaiting the signal of en- 
20 counter with the ?ame ardor as their generous steeds, 
which, by neighing and pawing the ground, gave signal 
of their impatience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, 
their bright points glancing to the sun, and the streamers 
25 with which they were decorated fluttering over the 
plumage of the helmets. Thus they remained while the 
marshals of the field surveyed their ranks with the ut- 
most exactness, lest either party had more or fewer than 
the appointed number. The tale was found exactly com- 
30 plete. The marshals then withdrew from the lists, and 
William de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced 
the signal words — “ Laissez aller!” The trumpets 
sounded as he spoke; the spears of the champions were 
at once lowered and placed in the rests; the spurs were 
35 dashed into the flanks of the horses; and the two fore- 
most ranks of either party rushed upon each other in 
full gallop, and met in the middle of the lists with a shock 
the sound of which was heard at a mile’s distance. The 
rear rank of each party advanced at a slower pace to 


Ivanhoe 


!37 

sustain the defeated, and follow up the success of the 
victors, of their party. 

The consequences of the encounter were not instantly 
seen, for the dust raised by the trampling of so many 
steeds darkened the air, and it was a minute ere the 
anxious spectators could see the fate of the encounter. 
When the fight became visible, half the knights on each 
side were dismounted — some by the dexterity of their 
adversary’s lance ; some by the superior weight and 
strength of opponents, which had borne down both horse 
and man; some lay stretched on earth as if never more 
to rise; some had already gained their feet, and were 
closing hand to hand with those of their antagonists who 
were in the same predicament; and several on both sides, 
who had received wounds by which they were disabled, 
were stopping their blood by their scarfs, and endeavoring 
to extricate themselves from the tumult. The mounted 
knights, whose lances had been almost all broken by 
the fury of the encounter, were now closely engaged 
with their swords, shouting their war-cries, and exchang- 
ing buffets, as if honor and life depended on the issue 
of the combat. 

The tumult was presently increased by the advance of 
the second rank on either side, which, acting as a reserve, 
now rushed on to aid their companions. The followers 
of Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted — “Ha! Beau-seant ! 
Beau-seant ! For the Temple! For the Temple!” The 
opposite party shouted in answer — “ Desdichado ! Des- 
dicliado ! " which watchword they took from the motto 
upon their leader’s shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the 
utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide of bat- 
tle seemed to flow now toward the southern, now to- 
ward the northern, extremity of the lists, as the one or 
the other party prevailed. Meantime the clang of the 
blows and the shouts of the combatants mixed fearfully 
with the sound of the trumpets, and drowned the groans 
of those who fell, and lay rolling defenseless beneath 
the feet of the horses. The splendid armor of the com- 


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i3» 

batants was now defaced with dust and blood, and gave 
way at every stroke of the sword and battle-ax. The 
gay plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon the 
breeze like snowflakes. All that was beautiful and 
5 graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and what 
was now visible was only calculated to awake terror or 
compassion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar 
spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, 
10 but even the ladies of distinction, who crowded the gal- 
leries, saw the conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, 
but without a wish to withdraw their eyes from a sight 
so terrible. Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek might 
turn pale, or a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, 
15 a brother, or a husband was struck from his horse. 
But in general, the ladies around encouraged the com- 
batants, not only by clapping their hands and waving 
their veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, “ Brave, 
lance ! Good sword ! ” when any successful thrust or 
20 blow took place under their observation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this 
bloody game, that of the men is the more easily under- 
stood. It showed itself in loud acclamations upon every 
change of fortune, while all eyes were so riveted on 
25 the lists that the spectators seemed as if they themselves 
had dealt and received the blows which were there so 
freely bestowed. And between every pause was heard 
the voice of the heralds, exclaiming, “ Fight on, brave 
knights ! Man dies, but glory lives ! Fight on ; death 
30 is better than defeat ! Fight on, brave knights ! for 
bright eyes behold your deeds ! ” 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of 
all endeavored to discover the leaders of each band, who, 
mingling in the thick of the fight, encouraged their com- 
35 panions both by voice and example. Both displayed 
great feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert or 
the Disinherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to 
them a champion who could be termed their unquestioned 
match. They repeatedly endeavored to single out each 


Ivanhoe 


*39 

other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that the 
fall of either leader might be considered as decisive of 
victory. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion 
that, during the earlier part of the conflict, their efforts 
to meet were unavailing, and they were repeatedly sep- 
arated by the eagerness of their followers, each of whom 
was anxious to win honor by measuring his strength 
against the leader of the opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on 
either side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had 
been compelled to the extremity of the lists, or been 
otherwise rendered incapable of continuing the strife, 
the Templar and the Disinherited Knight at length en- 
countered hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal 
animosity, joined to rivalry of honor, could inspire. 
Such was the address of each in parrying and striking, 
that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous and 
involuntary shout, expressive of their delight and ad- 
miration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited 
Knight had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de- 
Boeuf on the one flank, and the ponderous strength of 
Athelstane on the other, bearing down and dispersing 
those immediately exposed to them. Finding themselves 
freed from their immediate antagonists, it seems to have 
occurred to both these knights at the same instant that 
they would render the most decisive advantage to their 
party by aiding the Templar in his contest with his rival. 
Turning their horses, therefore, at the same moment, 
the. Norman spurred against the Disinherited Knight 
on the one side and the Saxon on the other. It was 
utterly impossible that the object of this unequal and 
unexpected assault could have sustained it, had he not 
been warned by a general cry from the spectators, who 
could not but take interest in one exposed to such dis- 
advantage. 

“ Beware ! beware ! Sir Disinherited ! ” was shouted 
so universally that the knight became aware of his dan- 
ger; and striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined 


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back his steed in the same moment, so as to escape the 
charge of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf. These knights, 
therefore, their aim being thus eluded, rushed from op- 
posite sides betwixt the object of their attack and the 
5 Templar, almost running their horses against each other 
ere they could stop their career. Recovering their horses, 
however, and wheeling them round, the whole three pur- 
sued their united purpose of bearing to the earth the Dis- 
inherited Knight. 

10 Nothing could have saved him except the remarkable 
strength and activity of the noble horse which he had 
won on the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of 
Bois-Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-de-Boeuf 
15 and Athelstane were both tired with the weight of their 
gigantic masters, clad in complete armor, and with the 
preceding exertions of the day. The masterly horse- 
manship of the Disinherited Knight, and the activity of 
the noble animal which he mounted, enabled him for 
20 a few minutes to keep at sword’s point his three antago- 
nists, turning and wheeling with the agility of a hawk 
upon the wing, keeping his enemies as far separate as 
he could, and rushing now against the one, now against 
the other, dealing sweeping blows with his sword, with- 
25 out waiting to receive those which were aimed at him 
in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his 
dexterity, it was evident that he must at last be over- 
powered; and the nobles around Prince John implored 
30 him with one voice to throw down his warder, and to 
save so brave a knight from the disgrace of being over- 
come by odds. 

“ Not I, by the light of Heaven ! ” answered Prince 
John; “this same springal, who conceals his name and 
35 despises our proffered hospitality, hath already gained 
one prize, and may now afford to let others have their 
turn.” As he spoke thus, an unexpected incident changed 
the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight 


Ivanhoe 


141 

a champion in black armor, mounted on a black horse, 
large of size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and 
strong, like the rider by whom he was mounted. This 
knight, who bore on his shield no device of any kind, 
had hitherto evinced very little interest in the event of 
the fight, beating off with seeming ease those combatants 
who attacked him, but neither pursuing his advantages 
nor himself assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto 
acted the part rather of a spectator than of a party in 
the tournament, a circumstance which procured him 
among the spectators the name of Le Noir Faineant, or 
the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, 
when he discovered the leader of his party so hard bested ; 
for, setting spurs to his horse, which was quite fresh, 
he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, 
in a voice like a trumpet-call, “ Desdichado, to the res- 
cue ! ” It was high time ; for, while the Disinherited 
Knight was pressing upon the Templar, Front-de-Boeuf 
had got nigh to him with his uplifted sword; but ere 
the blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt a stroke 
on his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, 
lighted with violence scarcely abated on the chamfron 
of the steed, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, 
both horse and man equally stunned by the fury of the 
blow. Le Noir Faineant then turned his horse upon 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; and his own sword having 
been broken in his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he 
wrenched from the hand of the bulky Saxon the battle- 
ax which he wielded, and, like one familiar with the 
use of the weapon, bestowed him such a blow upon the 
crest that Athelstane also lay senseless on the field. Hav- 
ing achieved this double feat, for which he was the more 
highly applauded that it was totally unexpected from him, 
the knight seemed to resume the sluggishness of his 
character, returning calmly to the northern extremity 
of the lists, leaving his leader to cope as he best could 
with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer matter 
of so much difficulty as formerly. The Templar’s horse 


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142 

had bled much, and gave way under the shock of the i 
Disinherited Knight’s charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbert | 
rolled on the field, encumbered with the stirrup, from ; 
which he was unable to draw his foot. His antagonist 
5 sprung from horseback, waved his fatal sword over the 
head of his adversary, and commanded him to yield him- 
self; when Prince John, more moved by the Templar’s 
dangerous situation than he had been by that of his 
rival, saved him the mortification of confessing himself 
10 vanquished, by casting down his warder and putting an 
end to the conflict. 

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight 
which continued to burn ; for of the few knights who 
still continued in the lists, the greater part had, by 
15 tacit consent, forborne the conflict for some time, leav- 
ing it to be determined by the strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and 
difficulty to attend their masters during the engagement, 
now thronged into the lists to pay their dutiful attendance 
20 to the wounded, who were removed with the utmost care 
and attention to the neighboring pavilions, or to the 
quarters prepared for them in the adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, 
one of the most gallantly contested tournaments of that 
25 age; for although only four knights, including one who 
was smothered by the heat of his armor, had died upon 
the field, yet upwards of thirty were desperately wounded, 
four or five of whom never recovered. Several more 
were disabled for life; and those who escaped best car- 
30 ried the marks of the conflict to the grave with them. 
Hence it is always mentioned in the old records as the 
“ gentle and joyous passage of arms of Ashby.” 

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the 
knight who had done best, he determined that the honor 
35 of the day remained with the knight whom the popular 
voice had termed Le Noir Faineant. It was pointed out 
to the Prince, in impeachment of this decree, that the 
victory had been in fact won by the Disinherited Knight, 
who, in the course of the day, had overcome six cham- 


Ivanhoe 


H3 

pions with his own hand, and who had finally unhorsed 
and struck down the leader of the opposite party. But 
Prince John adhered to his own opinion, on the ground 
that the Disinherited Knight and his party had lost the 
day but for the powerful assistance of the Knight of 
the Black Armor, to whom, therefore, he persisted in 
awarding the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight 
thus preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left 
the lists immediately when the conflict ceased, and had 
been observed by some spectators to move down one of 
the forest glades with the same slow pace and listless and 
indifferent manner which had procured him the epithet of 
the Black Sluggard. After he had been summoned 
twice by the sound of trumpet and proclamation of the 
heralds, it became necessary to name another to receive 
the honors which had been assigned to him. Prince John 
had now no further excuse for resisting the claim of the 
Disinherited Knight, whom, therefore, he named the 
champion of the day. 

Through a field slippery with blood and encumbered 
with broken armor and the bodies of slain and wounded 
horses, the marshals of the lists again conducted the 
victor to the foot of Prince John’s throne. 

“ Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “ since by 
that title only you will consent to be known to us, we 
a second time award to you the honors of this tourna- 
ment, and announce to you your right to claim and 
receive from the hands of the Queen of Love and 
Beauty the chaplet of honor which your valor has justly 
deserved.” 

The Knight bowed low and gracefully, but returned 
no answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained 
their voices in proclaiming honor to the brave and glory 
to the victor, while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs 
and embroidered veils, and while all ranks joined in a 
clamorous shout of exultation, the marshals conducted 
the Disinherited Knight across the lists to the foot of 


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144 Ivanhoe 

that throne of honor which was occupied by the Lady 
Rowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was 
made to kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since 
5 the fight had ended seemed rather to have been upon the 
impulse of those around him than from his own free 
will ; and it was observed that he tottered as they guided 
him the second time across the lists. Rowena, descend- 
ing from her station with a graceful and dignified step, 
10 was about to place the chaplet which she held in her 
hand upon the helmet of the champion, when the marshals 
exclaimed with one voice, “ It must not be thus ; his 
head must be bare.” The knight muttered faintly a few 
words, which were lost in the hollow of his helmet; but 
15 their purport seemed to be a desire that his casque might 
not be removed. 

Whether from love of form or from curiosity, the 
marshals paid no attention to his expressions of reluc- 
tance, but unhelmed him by cutting the laces of his 
20 casque, and undoing the fastening of his gorget. When 
the helmet was removed, the well-formed yet sun-burnt 
features of a young man of twenty-five were seen, amidst 
a profusion of shor; fair hair. His countenance was as 
pale as death, and marked in one or two places with 
25 streaks of blood. 

Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered 
a faint shriek; but at once summoning up the energy 
of her disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, to 
proceed, while her frame yet trembled with the violence 
30 of sudden emotion, she placed upon the drooping head 
of the victor the splendid chaplet which was the destined 
reward of the day, and pronounced in a clear and dis- 
tinct tone these words : “ I bestow on thee this chaplet, 
Sir Knight, as the meed of valor assigned to this day’s 
35 victor.” Here she paused a moment, and then firmly 
added, “ And upon brows more worthy could a wreath 
of chivalry never be placed ! ” 

The knight stooped his head and kissed the hand of 
the lovely Sovereign by whom his valor had been re- 


Ivanhoe 


145 

warded; and then, sinking yet farther forward, lay pros- 
trate at her feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had 
been struck mute by the sudden appearance of his ban- 
ished son, now rushed forward, as if to separate him from 5 
Rowena. But this had been already accomplished by the 
marshals of the field, who, guessing the cause of Ivan- 
hoe’s swoon, had hastened to undo his armor, and found 
that the head of a lance had penetrated his breastplate 
and inflicted a wound in his side. 10 


CHAPTER XIII 


“ Heroes, approach ! ” Atrides thus aloud ; 

“ Stand forth distinguished from the circling crowd, 

Ye who by skill or manly force may claim 
Your rivals to surpass and merit fame. 

This cow, worth twenty oxen, is decreed 
For him who farthest sends the winged reed.” 

Iliad . | 

The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced than i 
it flew from mouth to mouth with all the celerity with j 
which eagerness could convey and curiosity receive it. I 
It was not long ere it reached the circle of the Prince, 

5 whose brow darkened as he -heard the news. Looking 
around him, however, with an air of scorn, “ My lords,” 
said he, “ and especially you, Sir Prior, what think ye of 
the doctrine the learned tell us concerning innate at- 
tractions and antipathies ? Methinks that I felt the 
10 presence of my brother’s minion, even when I least 
guessed whom yonder suit of armor inclosed.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf must prepare to restore his fief of 
Ivanhoe,” said De Bracy, who, having discharged his part 
honorably in the tournament, had laid his shield and 
15 helmet aside, and again mingled with the Prince’s 
retinue. 

“ Aye,” answered Waldemar Fitzurse, “ this gallant is 
likely to reclaim the castle and manor which Richard 
assigned to him, and which your Highness’s generosity 
20 has since given to Front-de-Bceuf.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf,” replied John, “ is a man more will- 
ing to swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe than to 
disgorge one of them. For the rest, sirs, I hope none 
here will deny my right to confer the fiefs of the crown 

146 


Ivanhoe 


147 

upon the faithful followers who are around me, and 
ready to perform the usual military service, in the room 
of those who have wandered to foreign countries, and 
can neither render homage nor service when called 
upon.” 

The audience were too much interested in the question 
not to pronounce the Prince’s assumed right altogether 
indubitable. “ A generous Prince ! a most noble Lord, 
who thus takes upon himself the task of rewarding his 
faithful followers ! ” 

Such were the words which burst from the train, ex- 
pectants all of them of similar grants at the expense of 
King Richard’s followers and favorites, if indeed they 
had not as yet received such. Prior Aymer also as- 
sented to the general proposition, observing, however, 
“ That the blessed Jerusalem could not indeed be termed 
a foreign country. She was communis mater — the 
mother of all Christians. But he saw not,” he declared, 
“ how the Knight of Ivanhoe could plead any advantage 
from this, since he (the Prior) was assured that the cru- 
saders under Richard had never proceeded much farther 
than Askalon, which, as all the world knew, was a town 
of the Philistines, and entitled to none of the privileges 
of the Holy City.” 

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards the 
place where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground, now 
returned. “ The gallant,” said he, “ is likely to give your 
Highness little disturbance, and to leave Front-de-Boeuf 
in the quiet possession of his gains; he is severely 
wounded.” 

“ Whatever becomes of him,” said Prince John, “ he 
is victor of the day; and were he tenfold our enemy, 
or the devoted friend of our brother, which is perhaps 
the same, his wounds must be looked to ; our own phy- 
sician shall attend him.” 

A stern smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spoke. 
Waldemar Fitzurse hastened to reply that Ivanhoe was 
already removed from the lists, and in the custody of 
his friends. 


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Ivanhoe 


148 

“ I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “ to see the grief 
of the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty 
of a day this event has changed into mourning. I am 
not a man to be moved by a woman’s lament for her 
5 lover, but this same Lady Rowena suppressed her sorrow 
with such dignity of manner that it could only be dis- 
covered by her folded hands and her tearless eye, which 
trembled as it remained fixed on the lifeless form before 
her.” 

10 “ Who is this Lady Rowena,” said Prince John, “ of 

whom we have heard so much ? ” 

“ A Saxon heiress of large possessions,” replied the 
Prior Aymer; “a rose of loveliness, and a jewel of 
wealth; the fairest among a thousand, a bundle of myrrh, 
15 and a cluster of camphire.” 

“We shall cheer her sorrows,” said Prince John, “ and 
amend her blood, by wedding her to a Norman. She 
seems a minor, and must therefore be at our royal dis- 
posal in marriage. How sayst thou, De Bracy? What 
20 thinkst thou of gaining fair lands and livings, by wed- 
ding a Saxon, after the fashion of the followers of the 
Conqueror ? ” 

“ If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered 
De Bracy, “ it will be hard to displease me with a bride ; 
25 and deeply will I hold myself bound to your Highness 
for a good deed, which will fulfill all promises made in 
favor of your servant and vassal.” 

“We will not forget it,” said Prince John; “and that 
we may instantly go to work, command our seneschal 
30 presently to order the attendance of the Lady Rowena 
and her company — that is, the rude churl her guardian, 
and the Saxon ox whom the Black Knight struck down 
in the tournament — upon this evening’s banquet. De 
Bigot,” he added to his seneschal, “ thou wilt word this 
35 our second summons so courteously as to gratify the 
pride of these Saxons, and make it impossible for them 
again to refuse; although, by the bones of Becket, cour- 
tesy to them is casting pearls before swine.” 


Ivanhoe 


149 


Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was about to 
give the signal for retiring from the lists, when a small 
billet was put into his hand. 

“From whence ?” said Prince John, looking at the 
person by whom it was delivered. 

“ From foreign parts, my lord, but from whence I 
know not,” replied his attendant. “ A Frenchman brought 
it hither, who said . he had ridden night and day to put 
it into the hands of your Highness.” 

The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription, and 
then at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox-silk with 
which the billet was surrounded, and which bore the im- 
pression of three fleurs-de-lis. John then opened the 
billet with apparent agitation, which visibly and greatly 
increased when he had perused the contents, which were 
expressed in these words — 

“Take heed to yourself, for the Devil is unchained!” 

The Prince turned as pale as death, looked first on the 
earth, and then up to heaven, like a man who has re- 
ceived news that sentence of execution has been passed 
upon him. Recovering from the first effects of his sur- 
prise, he took Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy aside, 
and put the billet into their hands successively. “ It 
means,” he added, in a faltering voice, “ that my brother 
Richard has obtained his freedom.” 

“ This may be a false alarm or a forged letter,” said 
De Bracy. 

“ It is France’s own hand and seal,” replied Prince 
John. 

“ It is time, then,” said Fitzurse, “ to draw our party to 
a head, either at York or some other centrical place. 
A few days later, and it will be indeed too late. Your 
Highness must break short this present mummery.” 

“ The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy, “ must 
not be dismissed discontented, for lack of their share 
in the sports.” 

“The day,” said Waldemar, “is not yet very far spent; 
let the archers shoot a few rounds at the target, and the 


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Ivanhoe 


150 

prize be adjudged. This will be an abundant fulfillment 
of the Prince’s promises, so far as this herd of Saxon 
serfs is concerned.” 

“I thank thee, Waldemar,” said the Prince; “thou 
5 remindest me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that 
insolent peasant who yesterday insulted our person. 
Our banquet also shall go forward to-night as we pro- 
posed. Were this my last hour of power, it should be an 
hour sacred to revenge and to pleasure; let new cares 
10 come with to-morrow’s new day.” 

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those specta- 
tors who had already begun to leave the field ; and procla- 
mation was made that Prince John, suddenly called by 
high and peremptory public duties, held himself obliged 
15 to discontinue the entertainments of to-morrow’s festival; 
nevertheless, that, unwilling so many good yeomen should 
depart without a trial of skill, he was pleased to appoint 
them, before leaving the ground, presently to execute the 
competition of archery intended for the morrow. To 
20 the best archer a prize was to be awarded, being a bugle- 
horn, mounted with silver, and a silken baldric richly 
ornamented with a medallion of St. Hubert, the patron 
of silvan sport. 

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves 
25 as competitors, several of whom were rangers and under- 
keepers in the royal forests of Needwood and Charn- 
wood. When, however, the archers understood with 
whom they were to be matched, upwards of twenty with- 
drew themselves from the contest, unwilling to encounter 
30 the dishonor of almost certain defeat. For in those days 
the skill of each celebrated marksman was as well known 
for many miles round him as the qualities of a horse 
trained at Newmarket are familiar to those who fre- 
quent that well-known meeting. 

35 The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still 
amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal 
seat to view more nearly the persons of these chosen 
yeomen, several of whom wore the royal livery. Hav- 
ing satisfied his curiosity by this investigation, he looked 


Ivanhoe 


151 

for the object of his resentment, whom he observed stand- 
ing on the same spot, and with the same composed 
countenance which he had exhibited upon the preceding 
day. 

“ Fellow,” said Prince John, “ I guessed by thy insolent 5 
babble thou wert no true lover of the long-bow, and I 
see thou darest not adventure thy skill among such merry 
men as stand yonder.” 

“ Under favor, sir,” replied the yeoman, “ I have an- 
other reason for refraining to shoot, besides the fearing 10 
discomfiture and disgrace.” 

“And what is thy other reason?” said Prince John, 
who, for some cause which perhaps he could not himself 
have explained, felt a painful curiosity respecting this 
individual. 15 

“ Because,” replied the woodsman, “ I know not if these 
yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same marks; and 
because, moreover, I know not how your Grace might 
relish the winning of a third prize by one who has un- 
wittingly fallen under your displeasure.” 20 

Prince John colored as he put the question, “ What is 
thy name, yeoman ? ” 

“ Locksley,” answered the yeoman. 

“ Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, “ thou shalt shoot 
in thy turn, when these yeomen have displayed their 25 
skill. If thou carriest the prize, I will add to it twenty 
nobles; but if thou losest it, thou shalt be stripped of thy 
Lincoln green and scourged out of the lists with bow- 
strings, for a wordy and insolent braggart.” 

“And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager?” said 30 
the yeoman. “ Your Grace’s power, supported, as it is, 
by so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip and 
scourge me, but cannot compel me to bend or to draw 
my bow.” 

“ If thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the Prince, 35 
“ the provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break 
thy bow and arrows, and expel thee from the presence 
as a faint-hearted craven.” 

“ This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,” 


Ivanhoe 


152 

said the yeoman, “ to compel me to peril myself against 
the best archers of Leicester and Staffordshire, under 
the penalty of infamy if they should overshoot me. 
Nevertheless, I will obey your pleasure.” 

5 “ Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John, 

“his heart is sinking; I am jealous lest he attempt to 
escape the trial. And do you, good fellows, shoot boldly 
round; a buck and a butt of wine are ready for your 
refreshment in yonder tent, when the prize is won.” 

10 A target was placed at the upper end of the southern 
avenue which led to the lists. The contending archers 
took their station in turn, at the bottom of the southern 
access; the distance between that station and the mark 
allowing full distance for what was called a shot at 
15 rovers. The archers having previously determined by 
lot their order of precedence, were to shoot each three 
shafts in succession. The sports were regulated by an 
officer of inferior rank, termed the provost of the games; 
for the high rank of the marshals of the lists would 
20 have been held degraded had they condescended to super- 
intend the sports of the yeomanry. 

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered 
their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four 
arrows shot in succession, ten were fixed in the target, 
25 and the others ranged so near it that, considering the 
distance of the mark, it was accounted good archery. 
Of the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the 
inner ring were shot by Hubert, a forester in the service 
of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pronounced victorious. 
30 “ Now, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeoman, 

with a bitter smile, “ wilt thou try conclusions with 
Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver 
to the provost of the sports ? ” 

. “ Sith it be no better,” said Locksley, “ I am content 

35. to try my fortune; on condition that when I have shot 
two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound 
to shoot one at that which I shall propose.” 

“ That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “ and it 
shall not be refused thee, If thou dost beat this brag- 


Ivanhoe 153 

gart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver pennies for 
thee.” 

“A man can but do his best,” answered Hubert; “but 
my grandsire drew a good long bow at Hastings, and I 
trust not to dishonor his memory.” 

The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of 
the same size placed in its room. Hubert, who, as victor 
in the first trial of skill, had the right to shoot first, 
took his aim with great deliberation, long measuring the 
distance with his eye, while he held in his hand his 
bended bow, with the arrow placed on the string. At 
length he made a step forward, and raising the bow at 
the full stretch of his left arm, till the center or grasping- 
place was nigh level with his face, he drew his bow- 
string to his ear. The arrow whistled through the air, 
and lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not 
exactly in the center. 

“ You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said his 
antagonist, bending his bow, “ or that had been a better 
shot.” 

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to 
pause upon his aim, Locksley stepped to the appointed sta- 
tion, and shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance as 
if he had not even looked at the mark. He was speaking 
almost at the instant that the shaft left the bowstring, 
yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer to the white 
spot which marked the center than that of Hubert. 

“ By the light of Heaven ! ” said Prince John to Hu- 
bert, “ an thou suffer that runagate knave to overcome 
thee, thou art worthy of the gallows ! ” 

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. “An 
your Highness were to hang me,” he said, “ a man can 
but do his best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good 
bow—” 

“The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his gener- 
ation ! ” interrupted John. “ Shoot, knave, and shoot thy 
best, or it shall be the worse for thee ! ” 

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not 
neglecting the caution which he had received from his 


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Ivanhoe 


154 

adversary, he made the necessary allowance for a very 
light air of wind which had just arisen, and shot so suc- 
cessfully that his arrow alighted in the very center of 
the target. 

5 “A Hubert ! a Hubert ! ” shouted the populace, more in- 
terested in a known person than in a stranger. “ In the 
clout ! — in the clout ! a Hubert for ever ! ” 

“ Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the 
Prince with an insulting smile. 

10 “ I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied 

Locksley. 

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution 
than before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, 
which it split to shivers. The people who stood around 
15 were so astonished at his wonderful dexterity that they 
could not even give vent to their surprise in their usual 
clamor. “ This must be the devil, and no man of flesh 
and blood,” whispered the yeomen to each other ; “ such 
archery was never seen since a bow was first bent in 
20 Britain.” 

“ And now,” said Locksley, “ I will crave your Grace’s 
permission to plant such a mark as is used in the North 
Country; and welcome every brave yeoman who shall 
try a shot at it to win a smile from the bonny lass he 
25 loves best.” 

He then turned to leave the lists. “ Let your guards 
attend me,” he said, “ if you please ; I go but to cut 
a rod from the next willow-bush.” 

Prince John made a signal that some attendants should' 
30 follow him in case of his escape ; but the cry of “ Shame ! 
shame ! ” which burst from the multitude induced him 
to alter his ungenerous purpose. 

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand 
about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and rather 
35 thicker than a man’s thumb. He began to peel this with 
great composure, observing at the same time that to ask 
a good woodsman to shoot at a target so broad as had 
hitherto been used was to put shame upon his skill. 
“For his own part,” he said, “and in the land wher^ 


Ivanhoe 


155 

he was bred, men would as soon take for their mark 
King Arthur’s round table, which held sixty knights 
around it. A child of seven years old, 5 ’ he said, “ might 
hit yonder target with a headless shaft; but,” added he, 
walking deliberately to the other end of the lists, and 
sticking the willow wand upright in the ground, “ he 
that hits that rod at fivescore yards, I call him an archer 
fit to bear both bow and quiver before a king, an it were 
the stout King Richard himself.” 

“ My grandsire,” said Hubert, “ drew a good bow at 
the battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark 
in his life — and neither will I. If this yeoman can 
cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers; or rather, I 
yield to the devil that is in his jerkin and not to any 
human skill; a man can but do his best, and I will not 
shoot where I am sure to miss. I might as well shoot at 
the edge of our parson’s whittle, or at a wheat straw, 
or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which I 
can hardly see.” 

“ Cowardly dog ! ” said Prince John. “ Sirrah Locks- 
ley, do thou shoot; but if thou hittest such a mark, I will 
say thou art the first man ever did so. Howe’er it be, 
thou shalt not crow over us with a mere show of superior 
skill.” 

“ I will do my best, as Hubert says,” answered Locks- 
ley ; “ no man can do more.” 

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present 
occasion looked with attention to his weapon, and changed 
the string, which he thought was no longer truly round, 
having been a little frayed by the two former shots. He 
then took his aim with some deliberation, and the multi- 
tude awaited the event in breathless silence. The archer 
vindicated their opinion of his skill: his arrow split the 
willow rod against which it was aimed. A jubilee of 
acclamations followed; and even Prince John, in ad- 
miration of Locksley’s skill, lost for an instant his dislike 
to his person. “ These twenty nobles,” he said, “ which, 
with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we 
will make them fifty if thou wilt take livery and service 


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Ivanhoe 


156 

with us as a yeoman of our body-guard, and be near to our 
person. For never did so strong a hand bend a bow or so 
true an eye direct a shaft.” 

“ Pardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley ; “ but I 
5 have vowed that, if ever I take service, it should be with 
your royal brother King Richard. These twenty nobles, 
I leave to Hubert, who has this day drawn as brave a 
bow as his grandsire did at Hastings. Had his modesty 
not refused the trial, he would have hit the wand as 
10 well as I.” 

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance 
the bounty of the stranger; and Locksley, anxious to 
escape further observation, mixed with the crowd, and 
was seen no more. 

15 The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped 
John’s attention so easily, had not that Prince had other 
subjects of anxious and more important meditation 
pressing upon his mind at that instant. He called upon 
his chamberlain as he gave the signal for retiring from 
20 the lists, and commanded him instantly to gallop to 
Ashby and seek out Isaac the Jew. “ Tell the dog,” he 
said, “ to send me, before sundown, two thousand crowns. 
He knows the security; but thou mayst show him this 
ring for a token. The rest of the money must be paid 
25 at York within six days. If he neglects, I will have the 
unbelieving villain’s head. Look that thou pass him not 
on the way; for the circumcised slave was displaying his 
stolen finery amongst us.” 

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned 
30 to Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up and dispersing 
upon his retreat. 


CHAPTER XIV 


In rough magnificence array’d, 

When ancient chivalry display’d 
The pomp of her heroic games. 

And crested chiefs and tissued dames 
Assembled, at the clarion’s call, 

In some proud castle’s high arch’d hall. 

Warton. 

Prince John held his high festival in the Castle of 
Ashby. This was not the same building of which the 
stately ruins still interest the traveler, and which was 
erected at a later period by the Lord Hastings, High 
Chamberlain of England, one of the first victims of the 
tyranny of Richard the Third, and yet better known as 
one of Shakespeare’s characters than by his historical 
fame. The castle and town of Ashby, at this time, be- 
longed to Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester, who, 
during the period of our history, was absent in the Holy 
Land. Prince John, in the meanwhile, occupied his 
castle, and disposed of his domains without scruple; and 
seeking at present to dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality 
and magnificence, had given orders for great prepara- 
tions, in order to render the banquet as splendid as pos- 
sible. 

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this 
and other occasions the full authority of royalty, had 
swept the country of all that could be collected which 
was esteemed fit for their master’s table. Guests also were 
invited in great numbers; and in the necessity in which 
he then found himself of courting popularity, Prince 
John had extended his invitation to a few distinguished 
Saxon and Danish families, as well as to the Norman 

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158 

nobility and gentry of the neighborhood. However 
despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, the great 
numbers of the Anglo-Saxons must necessarily render 
them formidable in the civil commotions which seemed 
5 approaching, and it was an obvious point of policy to 
secure popularity with their leaders. 

It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he 
for some time maintained, to treat these unwonted guests 
with a courtesy to which they had been little accustomed. 
10 But although no man with less scruple made his ordinary 
habits and feelings bend to his interest, it was the mis- 
fortune of this Prince that his levity and petulance were 
perpetually breaking out, and undoing all that had been 
gained by his previous dissimulation. 

15 Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable ex- 
ample in Ireland, when sent thither by his father, Henry 
the Second, with the purpose of buying golden opinions 
of the inhabitants of that new and important acquisition 
to the English crown. Upon this occasion the Irish 
20 chieftains contended which should first offer to the young 
Prince their loyal homage and the kiss of peace. But, 
instead of receiving their salutations with courtesy, John 
and his petulant attendants could not resist the tempta- 
tion of pulling the long beards of the Irish chieftains — 
25. a conduct which, as might have been expected, was. 
highly resented by these insulted dignitaries, and pro- 
duced fatal consequences to the English domination in 
Ireland. It is necessary to keep these inconsistencies of 
John’s character in view, that the reader may under- 
30 stand his conduct during the present evening. 

In execution of the resolution which' he had formed 
during his cooler moments, Prince John received Cedric 
and Athelstane with distinguished courtesy, and ex- 
pressed his disappointment, without resentment, when the 
35 indisposition of Rowena was alleged by the former as a 
reason for her not attending upon his gracious summons. 
Cedric and Athelstane were both dressed in the ancient 
Saxon garb, which, although not unhandsome in itself, 
and in the present instance composed of costly materials, 






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Ivanhoe 


159 

was so remote in shape and appearance from that of 
the other guests that Prince John took great credit to 
himself with Waldemar Fitzurse for refraining from 
laughter at a sight which the fashion of the day rendered 
ridiculous. Yet, in the eye of sober judgment, the short 
close tunic and long mantle of the Saxons was a more 
graceful, as well as a more convenient, dress than the 
garb of the Normans, whose under-garment was a long 
doublet, so loose as to resemble a shirt or wagoner’s 
frock, covered by a cloak of scanty dimensions, neither 
fit to defend the wearer from cold or from rain, and the 
only purpose of which appeared to be to display as much 
fur, embroidery, and jewelry work as the ingenuity of the 
tailor could contrive to lay upon it. The Emperor 
.Charlemagne, in whose reign they were first introduced, 
seems to have been very sensible of the inconveniences 
arising from the fashion of this garment. “ In Heaven’s 
name,” said he, “ to what purpose serve these abridged 
cloaks? If we are in bed they are no cover, on horse- 
back they are no protection from the wind and rain, and 
when seated they do not guard our legs from the damp 
or the frost.” 

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the 
short cloaks continued in fashion down to the time of 
which we treat, and particularly among the princes of 
the house of Anjou. They were therefore in universal 
use among Prince John’s courtiers; and the long mantle, 
which formed the upper garment of the Saxons, was held 
in proportional derision. 

The guests were seated at a table which groaned under 
the quantity of good cheer. The numerous cooks who 
attended on the Prince’s progress, having exerted all 
their art in varying the forms in which the ordinary 
provisions were served up, had succeeded almost as well 
as the modern professors of the culinary art in rendering 
them perfectly unlike their natural appearance. Besides 
these dishes of domestic origin, there were various deli- 
cacies brought from foreign parts, and a quantity of 
rich pastry, as well as of the simnel bread and wastel 


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cakes, which were only used at the tables of the highest 
nobility. The banquet was crowned with the richest 
wines, both foreign and domestic. 

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not, 
5 generally speaking, an intemperate race. While in- 
dulging themselves in the pleasures of the table, they aimed 
at delicacy, but avoided excess, and were apt to attribute 
gluttony and drunkenness to the vanquished Saxons, as 
vices peculiar to their inferior station. Prince John, in- 
10 deed, and those who courted his pleasure by imitating 
his foibles, were apt to indulge to excess in the pleasures 
of the trencher and the goblet ; and indeed it is well known 
that his death was occasioned by a surfeit upon peaches 
and new ale. His conduct, however, was an exception 
15 to the general manners of his countrymen. 

With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs to 
each other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld the 
ruder demeanor of Athelstane and Cedric at a banquet 
to the form and fashion of which they were unaccustomed. 
20 And while their manners were thus the subject of sar- 
castic observation, the untaught Saxons unwittingly 
transgressed several of the arbitrary rules established for 
the regulation of society. Now, it is well known that a 
man may with more impunity be guilty of an actual 
25 breach either of real good breeding or of good morals, 
than appear ignorant of the most minute point of fash- 
ionable etiquette. Thus Cedric, who dried his hands with 
a towel, instead of suffering the moisture to exhale by 
waving them gracefully in the air, incurred more ridi- 
30 cule than his companion Athelstane, when he swallowed 
to his own single share the whole of a large pasty com- 
posed of the most exquisite foreign delicacies, and termed 
at that time a “ karum pie.” When, however, it was dis- 
covered, by a serious cross-examination, that the thane 
35 of Coningsburgh — or franklin, as the Normans termed 
him — had no idea what he had been devouring, and that 
he had taken the contents of the “ karum pie ” for larks 
and pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes and 
nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an ample 


Ivanhoe 161 

share of the ridicule- which would have been more justly 
bestowed on his gluttony. 

The long feast had at length its end; and, while the 
goblet circulated freely, men talked of the feats of 
the preceding tournament — of the unknown victor in the 
archery games, of the Black Knight, whose self-denial 
had induced him to withdraw from the honors he had 
won, and of the gallant Ivanhoe, who had so dearly 
bought the honors of the day. The topics were treated 
with military frankness, and the jest and laugh went 
round the hall. The brow of Prince John alone was 
overclouded during these discussions; some overpower- 
ing care seemed agitating his mind, and it was only when 
he received occasional hints from his attendants that he 
seemed to take interest in what was passing around him. 
On such occasions he would start up, quaff a cup of wine 
as if to raise his spirits, and then mingle in the conver- 
sation by some observation made abruptly or at ran- 
dom. 

“We drink this beaker/’ said he, “ to the health of 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, champion of this passage of arms, 
and grieve that his wound renders him absent from our 
board. Let all fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric of 
Rotherwood, the worthy father of a son so promising.” 

“ No, my lord,” replied Cedric, standing up, and plac- 
ing on the table his untasted cup, “ I yield not the name 
of son to the disobedient youth who at once despises my 
commands and relinquishes the manners and customs of 
his fathers.” 

“ ’Tis impossible,” cried Prince John, with well-feigned 
astonishment, “ that so gallant a knight should be an 
unworthy or disobedient son ! ” 

“ Yet, my lord,” answered Cedric, “ so it is with this 
Wilfred. He left my homely dwelling to mingle with 
the gay nobility of your brother’s court, where he learned 
to do those tricks of horsemanship which you prize so 
highly. He left it contrary to my wish and command; 
and in the days of Alfred that would have been termed 
disobedience — aye, and a crime severely punishable.” 


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Ivanhoe 


“ Alas ! ” replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of 
affected sympathy, “ since your son was a follower of my 
unhappy brother, it need not be inquired where or from 
whom he learned the lesson of filial disobedience.” 

5 Thus spake Prince John, willfully forgetting that, of 
all the sons of Henry the Second, though no one was free 
from the charge, he himself had been most distinguished 
for rebellion and ingratitude to his father. 

“ I think,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “ that my 
10 brother proposed to confer upon his favorite the rich 
manor of Ivanhoe.” 

“ He did endow him with it,” answered Cedric; “ nor is 
it my least quarrel with my son that he stooped to hold, 
as a feudal vassal, the very domains which his fathers 
15 possessed in free and independent right.” 

“ We shall then have your willing sanction, good 
Cedric,” said Prince John, “ to confer this fief upon a per- 
son whose dignity will not be diminished by holding land 
of the British crown. Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” he 
20 said, turning towards that baron, “ I trust you will so 
keep the goodly barony of Ivanhoe that Sir Wilfred shall 
not incur his father’s farther displeasure by again enter- 
ing upon that fief.” 

“ By St. Anthony ! ” answered the black-browed giant, 
25 “ I will consent that your Highness shall hold me a Saxon, 
if either Cedric or Wilfred, or the best that ever bore 
English blood, shall wrench from me the gift with which 
your Highness has graced me.” 

“ Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,” replied 
30 Cedric, offended at a mode of expression by which the 
Normans frequently expressed their habitual contempt 
of the English, “ will do thee an honor as great as it is 
undeserved.” 

Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince John’s 
35 petulance and levity got the start. 

“ Assuredly,” said he, “ my lords, the noble Cedric 
speaks truth ; and his race may claim precedence over us 
as much in the length of their pedigrees as in the longi- 
tude of their cloaks.” 


Ivanhoe 163 

“ They go before us indeed in the field, as deer before 
dogs,” said Malvoisin. 

“ And with good right may they go before us ; forget 
not,” said the Prior Aymer, “ the superior decency and 
decorum of their manners.” 

“ Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,” said 
De Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised him a 
Saxon bride. 

“ Together with the courage and conduct,” said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, “ by which they distinguished themselves 
at Hastings and elsewhere.” 

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, 
each in turn, followed their Prince’s example, and aimed 
a shaft of ridicule at Cedric, the face of the Saxon be- 
came inflamed with passion, and he glanced his eyes 
fiercely from one to another, as if the quick succession of 
so many injuries had prevented his replying to them in 
turn ; or, like a baited bull, who, surrounded by his tor- 
mentors, is at a loss to choose from among them the im- 
mediate object of his revenge. At length he spoke, in a 
voice half-choked with passion; and, addressing himself 
to Prince John as the head and front of the offense which 
he had received, “ Whatever,” he said, “ have been the 
follies and vices of our race, a Saxon would have been 
held nidering (the most emphatic term for abject worthless- 
ness) who should in his own hall, and while his own wine- 
cup passed, have treated, or suffered to be treated, an 
unoffending guest as your Highness has this day beheld 
me used ; and whatever was the misfortune of our fathers 
on the field of Hastings, those may at least be silent (here 
he looked at Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar) who have 
within these few hours once and again lost saddle and 
stirrup before the lance of a Saxon.” 

“ By my faith, a biting jest ! ” said Prince John. “ How 
like you it, sirs? Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and 
courage, become shrewd in wit and bold in bearing, in 
these unsettled times. What say ye, my lords? By this 
good light, I hold it best to take our galleys and return 
to Normandy in time.” 


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164 Ivanhoe 

“ For fear of the Saxons ? ” said De Bracy, laughing. 
“We should need no weapon but our hunting spears to 
bring these boars to bay.” 

“ A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,” said Fitz- 
5 urse; “ and it were well,” he added, addressing the Prince, 
“that your Highness should assure the worthy Cedric 
there is no insult intended him by jests which must sound 
but harshly in the ear of a stranger.” 

“ Insult ! ” answered Prince John, resuming his cour- 
10 tesy of demeanor ; “ I trust it will not be thought that I 
could mean or permit any to be offered in my presence. 
Here ! I fill my cup to Cedric himself, since he refuses to 
pledge his son’s health.” 

The cup went round amid the well-dissembled applause 
15 of the courtiers, which, however, failed to make the im- 
pression on the mind of the Saxon that had been de- 
signed. He was not naturally acute of perception, but 
those too much undervalued his understanding who 
deemed that this flattering compliment would obliterate 
20 the sense of the prior insult. He was silent, however, 
when the royal pledge again passed round, “ To Sir Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh.” 

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense 
of the honor by draining a huge goblet in answer to it. 

25 “ And now, sirs,” said Prince John, who began to be 

warmed with the wine which he had drank, “ having done 
justice to our Saxon guests, we will pray of them some 
requital to our courtesy. Worthy thane,” he continued, 
addressing Cedric, “ may we pray you to name to us some 
30 Norman whose mention may least sully your mouth, and 
to wash down with a goblet of wine all bitterness which 
the sound may leave behind it ? ” 

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding 
behind the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to 
35 omit the opportunity of putting an end to unkindness 
betwixt the two races by naming Prince John. The 
Saxon replied not to this politic insinuation, but, rising 
up, and filling his cup to the brim, he addressed Prince 


Ivanhoe 


165 

John in these words : “ Your Highness has required that 
I should name a Norman deserving to be remembered at 
our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard task, since it 
calls on the slave to sing the praises of the master — 
upon the vanquished, while pressed by all the evils of 5 
conquest, to sing the praises of the conqueror. Yet I 
will name a Norman — the first in arms and in place — 
the best and 'the noblest of his race. And the lips that 
shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earned fame, I term 
false and dishonored, and will so maintain them with my 10 
life. I quaff this goblet to the health of Richard the 
Lion-hearted ! ” 

Prince John, who had expected that his own name 
would have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when that 
of his injured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. 15 
He raised mechanically the wkie-cup to his lips, then in- 
stantly set it down, to view the demeanor of the com- 
pany at this unexpected proposal, which many of them 
felt it as unsafe to oppose as to comply with. Some of 
them, ancient and experienced courtiers, closely imitated 20 
the example of the Prince himself, raising the goblet to 
their lips, and again replacing it before them. There 
were many who, with a more generous feeling, exclaimed, 

“ Long live King Richard ! and may he be speedily re- 
stored to us! ” And some few, among whom were Front- 25 
de-Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain suffered their 
goblets to stand untasted before them. But no man ven- 
tured directly to gainsay a pledge filled to the health of 
the reigning monarch. 

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute, Cedric 30 
said to his companion, “ Up, noble Athelstane ! we have 
remained here long enough, since we have requited the 
hospitable courtesy of Prince John’s banquet. Those who 
wish to know further of our rude Saxon manners must 
henceforth seek us in the homes of our fathers, since we 35 
have seen enough of royal banquets and enough of Nor- 
man courtesy.” 

So saying, he aros^ and left the banqueting-room, fol- 


1 66 


Ivanhoe 


lowed by Athelstane, and by several other guests, who, 
partaking of the Saxon lineage, held themselves insulted 
by the sarcasms of Prince John and his courtiers. 

“ By the bones of St. Thomas,” said Prince John, as 
5 they retreated, “ the Saxon churls have borne off the best 
of the day, and have retreated with triumph ! ” 

“ Conclamatum est, poculatum est,” said Prior Aymer : 
“ we have drunk and we have shouted, it were time we 
left our wine flagons.” 

10 “ The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to-night, 

that he is in such a hurry to depart,” said De Bracy. 

“Not so, Sir Knight,” replied the Abbot; “but I must 
move several miles forward this evening upon my home- 
ward journey.” 

15 “ They are breaking up,” said the Prince in a whisper 

to Fitzurse ; “ their fears ’anticipate the event, and this 
coward Prior is the first to shrink from me.” 

“Fear not, my lord,” said Waldemar; “I will show 
him such reasons as shall induce him to join us when 
20 we hold our meeting at York. Sir Prior,” he said, “ I 
must speak with you in private before you mount your 
palfrey.” 

The other guests were now fast dispersing, with the 
exception of those immediately attached to Prince John’s 
25 faction and his retinue. 

“ This, then, is the result of your advice,” said the 
Prince, turning an angry countenance upon Fitzurse; 
“ that I should be bearded at my own board by a drunken 
Saxon churl, and that, on the mere sound of my brother’s 
30 name, men should fall off from me as if I had the lep- 
rosy ? ” 

“Have patience, sir,” replied his counselor; “I might 
retort your accusation, and blame the inconsiderate levity 
which foiled my design, and misled your own better judg- 
35 ment. But this is no time for recrimination. De Bracy 
and I will instantly go among these shuffling cowards and 
convince them they have gone too far to recede.” 

“ It will be in vain,” said Prince John, pacing the apart- 
ment with disordered steps, and expressing himself with 


Ivanhoe 


167 

an agitation to which the wine he had drank partly con- 
tributed — “ it will be in vain ; they have seen the hand- 
writing on the wall — they have marked the paw of the 
lion in the sand — they have heard his approaching roar 
shake the wood ; nothing will reanimate their courage.” 5 
“ Would to God,” said Fitzurse to De Bracy, “ that 
aught could reanimate his own ! His brother’s very name 
is an ague to him. Unhappy are the counselors of a prince 
who wants fortitude and perseverance alike in good and 
in evil ! ” 


10 


CHAPTER XV 


And yet he thinks — ha, ha, ha, ha — he thinks 
I am the tool and servant of his will. 

Well, let it be ; through all the maze of trouble 
His plots and base oppression must create. 

I’ll shape myself a way to higher things, 

And who will say ’tis wrong? 

Basil , a Tragedy. 

No spider ever took more pains to repair the shattered 
meshes of his web than did Waldemar Fitzurse to re- 
unite and combine the scattered members of Prince John’s 
cabal. Few of these were attached to him from inclina- 
5 tion, and none from personal regard. It was therefore 
necessary that Fitzurse should open to them new pros- 
pects of advantage, and remind them of those which they 
at present enjoyed. To the young and wild nobles he 
held out the prospect of unpunished license and uncon- 
10 troled revelry, to the ambitious that of power, and to the 
covetous that of increased wealth and extended domains. 
The leaders of the mercenaries received a donation in 
gold — an argument the most persuasive to their minds, 
and without which all others would have proved in vain. 
15 Promises were still more liberally distributed than money 
by this active agent; and, in fine, nothing was left un- 
done that could determine the wavering or animate the 
disheartened. The return of King Richard he spoke of 
as an event altogether beyond the reach of probability; 
20 yet, when he observed, from the doubtful looks and un- 
certain answers which he received, that this was the appre- 
hension by which the minds of his accomplices were 
most haunted, he boldly treated that event, should it 
really take place, as one which ought not to alter their 
25 political calculations. 

1 68 


Ivanhoe 


169 

“ If Richard returns,” said Fitzurse, “ he returns to 
enrich his needy and impoverished crusaders at the ex- 
pense of those who did not follow him to the Holy Land. 
He returns to call to a fearful reckoning those who, 
during his absence, have done aught that can be con- 
strued offense or encroachment upon either the laws of 
the land or the privileges of the crown. He returns to 
avenge upon the Orders of the Temple and the Hospital 
the preference which they showed to Philip of France 
during the wars in the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, 
to punish as a rebel every adherent of his brother Prince 
John. Are ye afraid of his power? ” continued the artful 
confidant of that Prince ; “ we acknowledge him a strong 
and valiant knight; but these are not the days of King 
Arthur, when a champion could encounter an army. If 
Richard indeed comes back, it must be alone, unfollowed, 
unfriended. The bones of his gallant army have whit- 
ened the sands of Palestine. The few of his followers 
who have returned have straggled hither like this Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe, beggared and broken men. And what talk 
ye of Richard’s right of birth ? ” he proceeded, in answer 
to those who objected scruples on that head. “Is Rich- 
ard’s title of primogeniture more decidedly certain than 
that of Duke Robert of Normandy, the Conqueror’s eldest 
son? And yet William the Red and Henry, his second 
and third brothers, were successively preferred to him by 
the voice of the nation. Robert had every merit which 
can be pleaded for Richard : he was a bold knight, a good 
leader, generous to his friends and to the church, and, 
to crown the whole, a crusader and a conqueror of the 
Holy Sepulcher; and yet he died a blind and miserable 
prisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because he opposed 
himself to the will of the people, who chose that he should 
not rule over them. It is our right,” he said, “ to choose 
from the blood royal the prince who is best qualified to 
hold the supreme power — that is,” said he, correcting 
himself, “ him whose election will best promote the inter- 
ests of the nobility. In personal qualifications,” he added, 
“ it was possible that Prince John might be inferior to 


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Ivanhoe 


170 

his brother Richard; but when it was considered that the 
latter returned with the sword of vengeance in his hand, 
while the former held out rewards, immunities, privileges, 
wealth, and honors, it could not be doubted which was 
5 the king whom in wisdom the nobility were called on to 
support.” 

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to the 
peculiar circumstances of those whom he addressed, had 
the expected weight with the nobles of Prince John’s 
10 faction. Most of them consented to attend the proposed 
meeting at York, for the purpose of making general ar- 
rangements for placing the crown upon the head of Prince 
John. 

It was late at night when, worn out and exhausted with 
15 his various exertions, however gratified with the result, 
Fitzurse, returning to the Castle of Ashby, met with De 
Bracy, who had exchanged his banqueting garments for 
a short green kirtle, with hose of the same cloth and 
color, a leathern cap or head-piece, a short sword, a horn 
20 slung over his shoulder, a long-bow in his hand, and a 
bundle of arrows stuck in his belt. Had Fitzurse met 
this figure in an outer apartment, he would have passed 
him without notice, as one of the yeomen of the guard; 
but finding him in the inner hall, he looked at him with 
25 more attention, and recognized the Norman knight in the 
dress of an English yeoman. 

“What mummery is this, De Bracy?” said Fitzurse, 
somewhat angrily ; “ is this a time for Christmas gambols 
and quaint maskings, when the fate of our master, Prince 
30 John, is on the very verge of decision? Why hast thou 
not been, like me, among these heartless cravens whom the 
very name of King Richard terrifies, as it is said to do 
the children of the Saracens?” 

“ I have been attending to mine own business,” answered 
35 De Bracy, calmly, “as you, Fitzurse, have been minding 
yours.” 

“I minding mine own business!” echoed Waldemar; 
“ I have been engaged in that of Prince John, our joint 
patron.” 


Ivanhoe 


171 

“ As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Waldemar,” 
said De Bracy, “ than the promotion of thine own in- 
dividual interest! Come, Fitzurse, we know each other: 
ambition is thy pursuit, pleasure is mine, and they be- 
come our different ages. Of Prince John thou thinkest 
as I do — that he is too weak to be a determined monarch, 
too tyrannical to be an easy monarch, too insolent and 
presumptuous to be a popular monarch, and too fickle 
and timid to be long a monarch of any kind. But he is 
a monarch by whom Fitzurse and De Bracy hope to rise 
and thrive; and therefore you aid him with your policy, 
and I with the lances of my Free Companions. ,, 

“ A hopeful auxiliary,” said Fitzurse, impatiently, 
“ playing the fool in the very moment of utter necessity. 
What on earth dost thou purpose by this absurd disguise 
at a moment so urgent ? ” 

“ To get me a wife,” answered De Bracy, coolly, “ after 
the manner of the tribe of Benjamin.” 

“The tribe of Benjamin!” said Fitzurse. “I compre- 
hend thee not.” 

“ Wert thou not in presence yestereven,” said De Bracy, 
“ when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply 
to the romance which was sung by the minstrel? He 
told how, long since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose 
between the tribe of Benjamin and the rest of the Israel- 
itish nation; and how they cut to pieces wellnigh all the 
chivalry of that tribe; and how they swore by our blessed 
Lady that they would not permit those who remained to 
marry in their lineage ; and how they became grieved for 
their vow, and sent to consult his holiness the Pope how 
they might be absolved from it; and how, by the advice 
of the Holy Father, the youth of the tribe of Benjamin 
carried off from a superb tournament all the ladies who 
were there present, and thus won them wives without 
the consent either of their brides or their brides’ families.” 

“ I have heard the story,” said Fitzurse, “ though either 
the Prior or thou has made some singular alterations in 
date and circumstances.” 

“I tell thee,” said De Bracy, “that I mean to purvey 


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Ivanhoe 


172 

me a wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; 
which is as much as to say, that in this same equipment I 
will fall upon that herd of Saxon bullocks who have this 
night left the castle, and carry off from them the lovely 
5 Rowena.” 

“Art thou mad, De Bracy?” said Fitzurse, “Bethink 
thee that, though the men be Saxons, they are rich and 
powerful, and regarded with the more respect by their 
countrymen that wealth and honor are but the lot of few 
10 of Saxon descent.” 

“And should belong to none,” said De Bracy; “the 
work of the Conquest should be completed.” 

“ This is no time for it at least,” said Fitzurse ; “ the 
approaching crisis renders the favor of the multitude 
15 indispensable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice to 
any one who injures their favorites.” 

“ Let him grant it if he dare,” said De Bracy; “ he will 
soon see the difference betwixt the support of such a 
lusty lot of spears as mine and that of a heartless mob of 
20 Saxon churls. Yet I mean no immediate discovery of 
myself. Seem I not in this garb as bold a forester as 
ever blew horn? The blame of the violence shall rest 
with the outlaws of the Yorkshire forests. I have sure 
spies on the Saxons’ motions. To-night they sleep in the 
25 convent of St. Wittol, or Withold, or whatever they call 
that churl of a Saxon saint, at Burton-on-Trent. Next 
day’s march brings them within our reach, and, falcon- 
ways, we swoop on them at once. Presently after I will 
appear in mine own shape, play the courteous knight, 
30 rescue the unfortunate and afflicted fair one from the hands 
of the rude ravishers, conduct her to Front-de-Boeuf’s 
castle, or to Normandy, if it should be necessary, and pro- 
duce her not again to her kindred until she be the bride 
and dame of Maurice de Bracy.” 

35 “ A marvelously sage plan,” said Fitzurse, “ and, as 

I think, not entirely of thine own device. Come, be frank, 
De Bracy, who aided thee in the invention? and who is 
to assist in the execution? for, as I think, thine own 
band lies as far off as York.” 


Ivanhoe 


173 

“ Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy, “ it 
was the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out 
the enterprise, which the adventure of the men of Benja- 
min suggested to me. He is to aid me in the onslaught, 
and he and his followers will personate the outlaws, from 
whom my valorous arm is, after changing my garb, to 
rescue the lady.” 

“ By my halidome,” said Fitzurse, “ the plan was worthy 
of your united wisdom ! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is 
most especially manifested in the project of leaving the 
lady in the hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou mayst, 
I think, succeed in taking her from her Saxon friends, 
but how thou wilt rescue her afterwards from the clutches 
of Bois-Guilbert seems considerably more doubtful. He 
is a falcon well accustomed to pounce on a partridge and 
to hold his prey fast.” 

“ He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, “ and cannot there- 
fore rival* me in my plan of wedding this heiress; and 
to attempt aught dishonorable against the intended bride 
of De Bracy — By Heaven ! were he a whole chapter of 
his order in his single person, he dared not do me such an 
injury ! ” 

“ Then, since naught that I can say,” said Fitzurse, 
u will put this folly from thy imagination, for well I 
know the obstinacy of thy disposition, at least waste as 
little time as possible; let not thy folly be lasting as well 
as untimely.” 

“ I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “ that it will be the 
work of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the head 
of my daring and valorous fellows, as ready to support 
any bold design as thy policy can be to form one. But I 
hear my comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping 
and neighing in the outer court. Farewell. I go, like 
a true knight, to win the smiles of beauty.” 

“ Like a true knight!” repeated Fitzurse, looking after 
him ; “ like a fool, I should say, or like a child, who will 
leave the most serious and needful occupation to chase 
the down of the thistle that drives past him. But it is 
with such tools that I must work — and for whose ad- 


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vantage? For that of a Prince as unwise as he is profli- 
gate, and as likely to be an ungrateful master as he has 
already proved a rebellious son and an unnatural brother. 
But he — he too is but one of the tools with which I labor ; 
5 and proud as he is, should he presume to separate his 
interest from mine, this is a secret which he shall soon 
learn.” 

The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted 
by the voice of the Prince from an interior apartment 
10 ca-lling out, “ Noble Waldemar Fitzurse ! ” and, with bon- 
net doffed, the future Chancellor, for to such high pre- 
ferment did the wily Norman aspire, hastened to receive 
the orders of the future sovereign. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 

From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; 

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, 

His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well; 

Remote from man, with God he pass’d his days. 

Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 

Parnell. 

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the 
tournament was decided by the exertions of an unknown 
knight, whom, on account of the passive and indifferent 
| conduct which he had manifested on the former part of 
the day, the spectators had entitled Le Noir Faineant. 
This knight had left the field abruptly when the victory 
was achieved; and when he was called upon to receive 
the reward of his valor he was nowhere to be found. 
In the meantime, while summoned by heralds and by 
trumpets, the knight was holding his course northward, 
avoiding all frequented paths, and taking the shortest 
road through the woodlands. He paused for the night 
at a small hostelry lying out of the ordinary route, where, 
however, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news of 
the event of the tourney. 

On the next morning the knight departed early, with 
the intention of making a long journey; the condition of 
his horse, which he had carefully spared during the pre- 
ceding morning, being such as enabled him to travel far 
without the necessity of much repose. Yet his purpose 
was baffled by the devious paths through which he rode, 
so that when the evening closed upon him he only found 
himself on the frontiers of the West Riding of York- 
shire. By this time both horse and man required refresh- 
ment, and it became necessary, moreover, to look out for 

175 


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some place in which they might spend the night, which j 
was now fast approaching. 

The place where the traveler found himself seemed 
unpropitious for obtaining either shelter or refreshment, 

5 and he was likely to be reduced to the usual expedient of 
knights errant, who, on such occasions, turned their j 
horses to graze, and laid themselves down to meditate on 
their lady-mistress, with an oak-tree for a canopy. But 
the Black Knight either had no mistress to meditate upon, 
10 or, being as indifferent in love as he seemed to be in war, | 
was not sufficiently occupied by passionate reflections 
upon her beauty and cruelty to be able to parry the effects 
of fatigue and hunger, and suffer love to act as a sub- 
stitute for the solid comforts of a bed and supper. He j 
15 felt dissatisfied, therefore, when, looking around, he found 
himself deeply involved in woods, through which indeed 
there were many open glades a,nd some paths, but such as 
seemed only formed by the numerous herds of cattle | 
which grazed in the forest, or by the animals of chase, F 
20 and the hunters who made prey of them. 

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his (j 
course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his 
left, and every effort which he might make to pursue 
his journey was as likely to lead him out of his road as to 
25 advance him on his route. After having in vain en- 
deavored to select the most beaten path, in hopes it might 
lead to the cottage of some herdsman or the silvan lodge 
of a forester, and having repeatedly found himself totally 
unable to determine on a choice, the knight resolved to 
30 trust to the sagacity of his horse, experience having on 
former occasions made him acquainted with the wonder- 
ful talent possessed by these animals for extricating them- 
selves and their riders on such emergencies. 

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a 
35 day’s journey under a rider cased in mail, had no sooner 
found, by the slackened reins, that he was abandoned to 
his own guidance, than he seemed to assume new strength 
and spirit; and whereas formerly he had scarce replied 
to the spur otherwise than by a groan, he now, as if proud 1 1 


Ivanhoe 


i n 

of the confidence reposed in him, pricked up his ears, and 
assumed, of his own accord, a more lively motion. The 
path which the animal adopted rather turned off from the 
course pursued by the knight during the day; but as the 
horse seemed confident in his choice, the rider abandoned 
himself to his discretion. 

He was justified by the event, for the footpath soon 
after appeared a little wider and more worn, and the 
tinkle of a small bell gave the knight to understand that 
he was in the vicinity of some chapel or hermitage. 

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on 
the opposite side of which a rock, rising abruptly from a 
gently sloping plain, offered its gray and weather-beaten 
front to the traveler. Ivy mantled its sides in some places, 
and in others oaks and holly bushes, whose roots 
found nourishment in the cliffs of the crag, waved over 
the precipices below, like the plumage of the warrior 
over his steel helmet, giving grace to that whose chief 
expression was terror. At the bottom of the rock, and 
leaning, as it were, against it, was constructed a rude 
hut, built chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the neigh- 
boring forest, and secured against the weather by having 
its crevices stuffed with moss mingled with clay. The 
stem of a young fir-tree lopped of its branches, with a 
piece of wood tied across near the top, was planted up- 
right by the door, as a rude emblem of the holy cross. 
At a little distance on the right hand, a fountain of the 
purest water trickled out of the rock, and was received 
in a hollow stone, which labor had formed into a rustic 
basin. Escaping from thence, the stream murmured down 
the descent by a channel which its course had long worn, 
and so wandered through the little plain to lose itself in the 
neighboring wood. 

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small 
chapel, of which the roof had partly fallen in. The build- 
ing, when entire, had never been above sixteen feet long 
by twelve feet in breadth, and the roof, low in proportion, 
rested upon four concentric arches which sprung from 
the four corners of the building, each supported upon a 


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short and heavy pillar. The ribs of two of these arches 
remained, though the roof had fallen down betwixt them; 
over the others it remained entire. The entrance to this 
ancient place of devotion was under a very low round 
5 arch, ornamented by several courses of that zigzag mold- 
ing, resembling sharks’ teeth, which appears so often in 
the more ancient Saxon architecture. A belfry rose above 
the porch on four small pillars, within which- hung the 
green and weather-beaten bell, the feeble sounds of which 
10 had been some time before heard by the Black Knight. 

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering 
in twilight before the eyes of the traveler, giving him 
good assurance of lodging for the night; since it was a 
special duty of those hermits who dwelt in the woods to 
15 exercise hospitality towards benighted or bewildered 
passengers. 

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider 
minutely the particulars which we have detailed, but 
thanking St. Julian, the patron of travelers, who had 
20 sent him good harborage, he leaped from his horse and 
assailed the door of the hermitage with the butt of his 
lance, in order te> arouse attention and gain admittance. 

It was some time before he obtained any answer, and 
the reply, when made, was unpropitious. 

25 “ Pass on, whosoever thou art,” was the answer given 

by a deep hoarse voice from within the hut, “ and disturb 
not the servant of God and St. Dunstan in his evening 
devotions.” 

“ Worthy father,” answered the knight, “ here is a poor 
30 wanderer bewildered in these woods, who gives thee the 
opportunity of exercising thy charity and hospitality.” 

“ Good brother,” replied the inhabitant of the hermitage, 
“ it has pleased Our Lady and St. Dunstan to destine 
me for the object of those virtues, instead of the exercise 
35 thereof. I have no provisions here which even a dog 
would share with me, and a horse of any tenderness of 
nurture would despise my couch; pass therefore on thy 
way, and God speed thee.” 

“ But how,” replied the knight, “ is it possible for me 


Ivanhoe 


I 79 

to find my way through such a wood as this, when dark- 
ness is coming on ? I pray you, reverend father, as 
you are a Christian, to undo your door, and at least 
point out to me my road.” 

“ And I pray you, good Christian brother,” replied 
the anchorite, “ to disturb me no more. You have al- 
ready interrupted one pater , two aves, and a credo, which 
I, miserable sinner that I am, should, according to my 
vow, have said before moonrise.” 

“The road — the road!” vociferated the knight; 
“ give me directions for the road, if I am to expect no 
more from thee.” 

“ The road,” replied the hermit, “ is easy to hit. The 
path from the wood leads to a morass, and from thence 
to; a ford, which, as the rains have abated, may now be 
passable. When thou hast crossed the ford, thou wilt 
take care of thy footing up the left bank, as it is some- 
what precipitous, and the path, which hangs over the 
river, has lately, as I learn — for I seldom leave the duties 
of my chapel — given way in sundry places. Thou wilt 
then keep straight forward — ” 

“ A broken path — a precipice — a ford — and a mo- 
rass ! ” said the knight, interrupting him. “ Sir Hermit, 
if you were the holiest that ever wore beard or told 
bead, you shall scarce prevail on me to hold this road 
to-night. I tell thee, that thou, who livest by the charity 
of the country — ill deserved, as I doubt it is — hast no 
right to refuse shelter to the wayfarer when in distress. 
Either open the door quickly, or, by the rood, I will beat 
it down and make entry for myself.” 

“ Friend wayfarer,” replied the hermit, “ be not im- 
portunate; if thou puttest me to use the carnal weapon in 
mine own defense, it will be e’en the worse for you.” 

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growl- 
ing, which the traveler had for some time heard, be- 
came extremely loud and furious, and made the knight 
suppose that the hermit, alarmed by his threat of making 
forcible entry, had called the dogs, who made this clamor 
to aid him in his defense, out of some inner recess in 


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which they had been kenneled. Incensed at this prep- 
aration on the hermit’s part for making good his in- 
hospitable purpose, the knight struck the door so furiously 
with his foot that posts as well as staples shook with 
5 violence. 

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to 
a similar shock, now called out aloud, “ Patience — 
patience; spare thy strength, good traveler, and I will 
presently undo the door, though, it may be, my doing 
10 so will be little to thy pleasure.” 

The door accordingly was opened; and the hermit, a 
large, strong-built man, in his sackcloth gown and hood, 
girt with a rope of rushes, stood before the knight. He 
had in one hand a lighted torch, or link, and in the other 
15 a baton of crab-tree, so thick and heavy that it might 
well be termed a club. Two large shaggy dogs, half 
greyhound, half mastiff, stood ready to rush upon the 
traveler as soon as the door should be opened. But when 
the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and golden spurs 
20 of the knight who stood without, the hermit, altering 
probably his original intentions, repressed the rage ,of his 
auxiliaries, and, changing his tone to a sort of churlish 
courtesy, invited the knight to enter his hut, making ex- 
cuse for his unwillingness to open his lodge after sunset, 
25 by alleging the multitude of robbers and outlaws who were 
abroad, and who gave no honor to Our Lady or St. 
Dunstan, nor to those holy men who spent life in their 
service. 

“ The poverty of your cell, good father,” said the 
30 knight, looking around him, and seeing nothing but a 
bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carved in oak, a missal, 
with a rough-hewn table and two stools, and one or 
two clumsy articles of furniture — “ the poverty of your 
cell should seem a sufficient defense against any risk of 
35 thieves, not to mention the aid of two trusty dogs, large 
and strong enough, I think, to pull down a stag, and, of 
course, to matclr with most men.” 

“ The good keeper of the forest,” said the hermit, 


Ivanhoe 1 8 1 

“ hath allowed me the use of these animals to protect 
my solitude until the times shall mend.” 

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted 
branch of iron which served for a candlestick; and placing 
the oaken trivet before the embers of the fire, which he 5 
refreshed with some dry wood, he placed a stool upon 
one side of the table, and beckoned to the knight to do the 
same upon the other. 

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each 
other, each thinking in his heart that he had seldom 10 
seen a stronger or more athletic figure than was placed 
opposite to him. 

“ Reverend hermit,” said the knight, after looking long 
and fixedly at his host, “were it not to interrupt your 
devout meditations, I would pray to know three things of 15 
your holiness; first, where I am to put my horse? sec- 
ondly, what I can have for supper? thirdly, where I am 
to take up my couch for the night ? ” 

“ I will reply to you,” said the hermit, “ with my finger, 
it being against my rule to speak by words where signs 20 
can answer the purpose.” So saying, he pointed suc- 
cessively to two corners of the hut. “ Your stable,” said 
he, “ is there ; your bed there ; and,” reaching down a 
platter with two handfuls of parched peas upon it from 
the neighboring shelf, and placing it upon the table, he 25 
added, “your supper is here.” 

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the 
hut, brought in his horse, which in the interim he had 
fastened to a tree, unsaddled him with much attention, 
and spread upon the steed’s weary back his own mantle. 30 

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to com- 
passion by the anxiety as well as address which the 
stranger displayed in tending his horse; for, muttering 
something about provender left for the keeper’s palfrey, 
he dragged out of a recess a bundle of forage, which he 35 
spread before the knight’s charger, and immediately after- 
wards shook down a quantity of dried fern in the corner 
which he had assigned for the rider’s couch, The knight 


i 82 


Ivanhoe 


returned him thanks for his courtesy; and, this duty 
done, both resumed their seats by the table, whereon 
stood the trencher of pease placed between them. The 
hermit, after a long grace, which had once been Latin, 
5 but of which original language few traces remained, ex- 
cepting here and there the long rolling termination of 
some word or phrase, set example to his guest by modestly 
putting into a very large mouth, furnished with teeth 
which might have ranked with those of a boar both in 
10 sharpness and whiteness, some three or four dried peas, a 
miserable grist, as it seemed, for so large and able a 
mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, 
laid aside his helmet, his corselet, and the greater part 
15 of his armor, and showed to the hermit a head thick- 
curled with yellow hair, high features, blue eyes, re- 
markably bright and sparkling, a mouth well formed, 
having an upper lip clothed with mustachoes darker than 
his hair, and bearing altogether the look of a bold, daring, 
20 and enterprising man, with which his strong form well 
corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence 
of his guest, threw back his cowl, and showed a round 
bullet head belonging to a man in the prime of life. His 
25 close-shaven crown, surrounded by a circle of stiff curled 
black hair, had something the appearance of a parish 
pinfold begirt by its high hedge. The features expressed 
nothing of monastic austerity or of ascetic privations; 
on the contrary, it was a bold bluff countenance, with 
30 broad black eyebrows, a well-turned forehead, and cheeks 
as round and vermilion as those of a trumpeter, from 
which descended a long and curly black beard. Such a 
visage, joined to the brawny form of the holy man, spoke 
rather of sirloins and haunches than of peas and pulse. 
35 This incongruity did not escape the guest. After he had 
with great difficulty accomplished the mastication of a 
mouthful of the dried peas, he found it absolutely nec- 
essary to request his pious entertainer to furnish him with 
gome liquor; who replied to his request by placing be- 


Ivanhoe 183 

fore him a large can of the purest water from the 
fountain. 

“ It is from the well of St. Dunstan,” said he, “ in 
which, betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred 
heathen Danes and Britons — blessed be his name ! ” 
And applying his black beard to the pitcher, he took a 
draught much more moderate in quantity than his en- 
comium seemed to warrant. 

“ It seems to me, reverend father,” said the knight, 
“ that the small morsels which you eat, together with this 
holy but somewhat thin beverage, have thriven with you 
marvelously. You appear a man more fit to win the ram 
at a wrestling-match, or the ring at a bout at quarter- 
staff, or the bucklers at a sword-play, than to linger out 
your time in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and 
living upon parched peas and cold water.” 

“ Sir Knight,” answered the hermit, “ your thoughts, 
like those of the ignorant laity, are according to the 
flesh. It has pleased Our Lady and my patron saint to 
bless the pittance to which I restrain myself, even as the 
pulse and water was blessed to the children Shadrach, 
Meshech, and Abednego, who drank the same rather than 
defile themselves with the wine and meats which were 
appointed them by the King of the Saracens.” 

“ Holy father,” said the knight, “ upon whose counte- 
nance it hath pleased Heaven to work such a miracle, 
permit a sinful layman to crave thy name?” 

“ Thou mayst call me,” answered the hermit, “ the 
Clerk of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these parts. 
They add, it is true, the epithet holy, but I stand not 
upon that, as being unworthy of such addition. And 
now, valiant knight, may I pray ye for the name of my 
honorable guest ? ” 

“ Truly,” said the knight, “ Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, 
men call me in these parts the Black Knight; many, sir, 
add to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby I am no way 
ambitious to be distinguished.” 

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his 
guest’s reply. 


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“ I see/’ said he, “ Sir Sluggard Knight, that thou art a 
man of prudence and of counsel ; and, moreover, I see that 
my poor monastic fare likes thee not, accustomed, per- 
haps, as thou hast been to the license of courts and of 
5 camps, and the luxuries of cities; and now I bethink 
me, Sir Sluggard, that when the charitable keeper of 
this forest-walk left these dogs for my protection, and 
also those bundles of forage, he left me also some food, 
which, being unfit for my use, the very recollection of 
10 it had escaped me amid my more weighty meditations.” 

“ I dare be sworn he did so,” said the knight ; “ I was 
convinced that there was better food in the cell, Holy 
Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl. Your keeper is 
ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheld thy grinders 
15 contending with these peas, and thy throat flooded with 
this ungenial element, could see thee doomed to such 
horse-provender and horse-beverage (pointing to the 
provisions upon the table), and refrain from mending 
thy cheer. Let us see the keeper’s bounty, therefore, 
20 without delay.” 

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in 
which there was a sort of comic expression of hesitation, 
as if uncertain how far he should act prudently in trust- 
ing his guest. There was, however, as much of bold 
25 frankness in the knight’s countenance as was possible to 
be expressed by features. His smile, too, had something 
in it irresistibly comic, and gave an assurance of faith 
and loyalty, with which his host could not refrain from 
sympathizing. 

30 After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit 
went to the further side of the hut, and opened a hutch, 
which was concealed with great care and some ingenuity. 
Out of the recesses of a dark closet, into which this 
aperture gave admittance, he brought a large pasty, baked 
35 in a pewter platter of unusual dimensions. This mighty 
dish he placed before his guest, who, using his poniard 
to cut it open, lost no time in making himself acquainted 
with its contents. 

“ How long is it since the good keeper has been here? M 


Ivanhoe 185 

said the knight to his host, after having swallowed several 
hasty morsels of this reinforcement to the hermit’s good 
cheer. 

“ About two months,” answered the father, hastily. 

“ By the true Lord,” answered the knight, “ every- 
thing in your hermitage is miraculous, Holy Clerk ! for 
I would have been sworn that the fat buck which fur- 
nished this venison had been running on foot within 
the week.” 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this 
observation; and, moreover, he made but a poor figure 
while gazing on the diminution of the pasty, on which 
his guest was making desperate inroads — a warfare in 
which his previous profession of abstinence left him no 
pretext for joining. 

“ I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the knight, 
stopping short of a sudden, “ and I bethink me it is a 
custom there that every host who entertains a guest shall 
assure him of the wholesomeness of his food by partak- 
ing of it along with him. Far be it from me to suspect 
so holy a man of aught inhospitable; nevertheless, I will 
be highly bound to you would you comply with this 
Eastern custom.” 

“To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight, I 
will for once depart from my rule,” replied the hermit. 
And as there were no forks in those days, his clutches 
were instantly in the bowels of the pasty. 

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed 
matter of rivalry between the guest and the entertainer 
which should display the best appetite; and although 
the former had probably fasted longest, yet the hermit 
fairly surpassed him. 

“ Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger was 
appeased, “ I would gauge my good horse yonder against 
a zecchin, that that same honest keeper to whom we are 
obliged for the venison has left thee a stoup of wine, or 
a runlet of canary, or some such trifle, by way of ally 
to this noble pasty. This would be a circumstance, 
doubtless, totally unworthy to dwell in the memory of 


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so rigid an anchorite; yet, I think, were you to search 
yonder crypt once more, you would find that I am right 
in my conjecture. ,, 

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to 
5 the hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which might 
contain about four quarts. He also brought forth two 
large drinking cups, made out of the horn of the urus, 
and hooped with silver. Having made this goodly pro- 
vision for washing down the supper, he seemed to think 
10 no farther ceremonious scruple necessary on his part; 
but filling both cups, and saying, in the Saxon fashion, 
' Waes hael, Sir Sluggish Knight ! ” he emptied his own 
at a draught. 

“ Drinc hael, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ! ” answered 
15 the warrior, and did his host reason in a similar brimmer. 

“ Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first cup 
was thus swallowed, “ I cannot but marvel that a man 
possessed of such thews and sinews as thine, and who 
therewithal shows the talent of so goodly a trencherman, 
20 should think of abiding by himself in this wilderness. 
In my judgment, you are fitter to keep a castle or a 
fort, eating of the fat and drinking of the strong, than 
to live here upon pulse and water, or even upon the 
charity of the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should 
25 find myself both disport and plenty out of the king’s deer. 
There is many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck 
will never be missed that goes to the use of St. Dunstan’s 
chaplain.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, “ these are 
30 dangerous words, and I pray you to forbear them. I 
am true hermit to the king and law, and were I to spoil 
my liege’s game, I should be sure of the prison, and, an 
my gown saved me not, were in some peril of hanging.” 

“ Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight, “ I 
35 would take my walk by moonlight, when foresters and 
keepers were warm in bed, and ever and anon — as I 
pattered my prayers — I would let fly a shaft among 
the herds of dun deer that feed in the glades. Resolve 


Ivanhoe 187 

me, Holy Clerk, hast thou never practiced such a pas- 
time ? ” 

“ Friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, “ thou hast 
seen all that can concern thee of my housekeeping, and 
something more than he deserves who takes up his quar- 
ters by violence. Credit me, it is better to enjoy the 
good which God sends thee, than to be impertinently 
curious how it comes. Fill thy cup, and welcome; and 
do not, I pray thee, by further impertinent inquiries, 
put me to show that thou couldst hardly have made good 
thy lodging had I been earnest to oppose thee.” 

“ By my faith,” said the knight, “ thou makest me more 
curious than ever ! Thou art the most mysterious hermit 
I ever met; and I will know more of thee ere we part. 
As for thy threats, know, holy man, thou speakest to 
one whose trade it is to find out danger wherever it is 
to be met with.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the hermit, 
“^respecting thy valor much, but deeming wondrous 
slightly of thy discretion. If thou wilt take equal arms 
with me, I will give thee, in all friendship and brotherly 
love, such sufficing penance and complete absolution that 
thou shalt not for the next twelve months sin the sin 
of excess of curiosity.” 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his 
weapons. 

“ There is none,” replied the hermit, “ from the scissors 
of Delilah and the tenpenny nail of Jael to the scimitar 
of Goliath, at which I am not a match for thee. But, 
if I am to make the election, what sayst thou, good friend, 
to these trinkets ? ” 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out 
from it a couple of broadswords and bucklers, such as 
were used by the yeomanry of the period. The knight, 
who watched his motions, observed that this second place 
of concealment was furnished with two or three good 
long-bows, a cross-bow, a bundle of bolts for the latter, 
and half a dozen sheaths of arrows for the former. A 


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harp, and other matters of a very uncanonical appearance, 
were also visible when this dark recess was opened. 

“ I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “ I will ask 
thee no more offensive questions. The contents of that 
5 cupboard are an answer to all my inquiries; and I see 
a weapon there (here he stooped and took out the harp) 
on which I would more gladly prove my skill with thee 
than at the sword and buckler.” 

“ I hope, Sir Knight,” said the hermit, “ thou hast 
10 given no good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. 
I do promise thee, I suspect thee grievously. Neverthe- 
less, thou art my guest, and I will not put thy manhood 
to the proof without thine own free will. Sit thee down, 
then, and fill thy cup; let us drink, sing, and be merry. 
15 If thou knowest ever a good lay, thou shalt be welcome 
to a nook of pasty at Copmanhurst so long as I serve the 
chapel of St. Dunstan, which, please God, shall be till 
I change my gray covering for one of green turf. But 
come, fill a flagon, for it will crave some time to tuqe 
20 the harp; and naught pitches the voice and sharpens the 
ear like a cup of wine. For my part, I love to feel 
the grape at my very finger-ends before they make the 
harp-strings tinkle.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book, 

Portray’d with many a holy deed 
Of martyrs crown’d with heavenly meed; 

Then, as my taper waxes dim, 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn. 

Who but would cast his pomp away, 

To take my staff and amice grey, 

And to the world’s tumultuous stage. 

Prefer the peaceful Hermitage : 1 

Warton. 

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, 
with which his guest willingly complied, he found it no 
easy matter to bring the harp to harmony. 

“ Methinks, holy father,” said he, “ the instrument 
wants one string, and the rest have; been somewhat mis- 5 
used.” 

“ Aye, mark’st thou that ? ” replied the hermit ; “ that 
shows thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,” 
he added, gravely casting up his eyes — “ all the fault of 
wine and wassail! I told Allan-a-Dale, the northern 10 
minstrel, that he would damage the harp if he touched 
it after the seventh cup, but he would not be controlled. 
Friend, I drink to thy successful performance.” 

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at 
the same time shaking his head at the intemperance of 15 
the Scottish harper. 

The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings 
into some order, and, after a short prelude, asked his 
host whether he would choose a sirvente in the language 

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190 

of oc, or a lai in the language of oui, or a virelai, or a 
ballad in the vulgar English. 

“ A ballad — a ballad/’ said the hermit, “ against all 
the ocs and ouis of France. Downright English am I, 
5 Sir Knight, and downright English was my patron St. 
Dunstan, and scorned oc and oui, as he would have 
scorned the parings of the devil’s hoof; downright Eng- 
lish alone shall be sung in this cell.” 

“ I will assay, then,” said the knight, “ a ballad com- 
10 posed by a Saxon gleeman, whom I knew in Holy Land.” 

It speedily appeared that, if the knight was not a 
complete master of the minstrel art, his taste for it had 
at least been cultivated under the best instructors. Art 
had taught him to soften the faults of a voice which 
15 had little compass, and was naturally rough rather than 
mellow, and, in short, had done all that culture can do 
in supplying natural deficiencies. His performance, 
therefore, might have been termed very respectable by 
abler judges than the hermit, especially as the knight 
20 threw into the notes now a degree of spirit, and now of 
plaintive enthusiasm, which gave force and energy to 
the verses which he sung. 


ftbe CrusaDcr's IReturn 

High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 

25 From Palestine the champion came; 

The cross upon his shoulders borne 
Battle and blast had dimm’d and torn. 
Each dint upon his batter’d shield 
Was token of a foughten field; 

30 And thus, beneath his lady’s bower, 

He sung, as fell the twilight hour : — 

“Joy to the fair! — thy knight behold, 
Return’d from yonder land of gold. 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need 
Save his good arms and battle-steed, 

His spurs, to dash against a foe, 

His lance and sword to lay him low; 


Ivanhoe 


191 

Such all the trophies of his toil, 

Such — and the hope of Tekla’s smile! 

“Joy to the fair! whose constant knight 
Her favor fired to feats of might; 

Unnoted shall she not remain, 

Where meet the bright and noble train; 

Minstrel shall sing and herald tell — 

* Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 

’Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field at Askalon! 

“ ‘ Note well her smile ! it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made, 

When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell 
Iconium’s turban’d soldan fell. 

Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow? 

Twines not of them one golden thread. 

But for its sake a Paynim bled.’ 

“ Joy to the fair ! — my name unknown, 

Each deed and all its praise thine own; 

Then, oh! unbar this churlish gate. 

The night dew falls, the hour is late. 

Inured to Syria’s glowing breath, 

I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 

Let grateful love quell maiden shame, 

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.” 

During this performance, the hermit demeaned himself 
much like a first-rate critic of the present day at a new 
opera. He reclined back upon his seat with his eyes 
half shut: now folding his hands and twisting his thumbs, 
he seemed absorbed in attention, and anon, balancing 
his expanded palms, he gently flourished them in time 
to the music. At one or two favorite cadences he threw 
in a little assistance of his own, where the knight’s voice 
seemed unable to carry the air so high as his worshipful 
taste approved. When the song was ended, the anchorite 
emphatically declared it a good one, and well sung. 

“ And yet,” said he, “ I think my Saxon countrymen 


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had herded long enough with the Normans to fall into 
the tone of their melancholy ditties. What took the 
honest knight from home? or what could he expect but 
to find his mistress agreeably engaged with a rival on 
5 his return, and his serenade, as they call it, as little re- 
garded as the caterwauling of a cat in the gutter? 
Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee, to the 
success of all true lovers. I fear you are none,” he 
added, on observing that the knight, whose brain began 
10 to be heated with these repeated draughts, qualified his 
flagon from the water pitcher. 

“ Why,” said the knight, “ did you not tell me that this 
water was from the well of your blessed patron, St. 
Dunstan? ” 

15 “ Aye, truly,” said the hermit, “ and many a hundred 

of pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he 
drank any of it. Everything should be put to its proper 
use in this world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as any one, 
the prerogatives of a jovial friar.” 

20 And so saying, he reached , the harp, and entertained 
his guest with the following characteristic song, to a 
sort of derrydown chorus, appropriate to an old English 
ditty : — 


Gbe JBarefooteD afdar 

25 I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain; 

But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 

So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, 

30 And is brought home at evensong prick’d through with a 
spear ; 

I confess him in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. 

Your monarch! Pshaw! many a prince has been known 
35 To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown; 

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar! 


Ivanhoe 


!93 


The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone, 

The larfcd and its fatness is mark’d for his own; 

He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires. 

For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. 

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums; 

For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire. 

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 

He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot, 

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot. 

And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire, 
Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 

Long flourished the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope; 

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar, 

Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 

“ By my troth,” said the knight, “ thou hast sung well 
and lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And, 
talking of the devil. Holy Clerk, are you not afraid that he 
may pay you a visit during some of your uncanonical 
pastimes ? ” 

“ I uncanonical ! ” answered the hermit ; “ I scorn the 
charge — I* scorn it with my heels ! I serve the duty of 
my chapel duly and truly. Two masses daily, morning 
and evening, primes, noons, and vespers, aves, credos, 
paters — ” 

“ Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in 
season,” said the guest. 

“Exceptis excipiendis ” replied the hermit, “as our 
old abbot taught me to say, when impertinent laymen 
should ask me if I kept every punctilio of mine order.” 

“True, holy father,” said the knight; “but the devil 
is apt to keep an eye on such exceptions; he goes about, 
thou knowest, like a roaring lion.” 

“Let him roar here if he dares,” said the Friar; “a 
touch of my cord will make him roar as loud as the tongs 
of St. Dunstan himself did. I never feared man, and 


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I as little fear the devil and his imps. St. Dunstan, St. 
Dubric, St. Winibald, St. Winifred, St. Swibert, St. 
Willick, not forgetting St. Thomas a Kent and my own 
poor merits to speed, — I defy every devil of them, come 
5 cut and long tail. But to let you into a secret, I never 
speak upon such subjects, my friend, until after morning 
vespers/’ 

He changed the conversation: fast and furious grew 
the mirth of the parties, and many a song was exchanged 
10 betwixt them, when their revels were interrupted by a 
loud knocking at the door of the hermitage. 

The occasion of this interruption we can only explain 
by resuming the adventures of another set of our char- 
acters; for, like old Ariosto, we do not pique ourselves 
15 upon continuing uniformly to keep company with any 
one personage of our drama. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle, 

Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, 
Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, 
Chequers the sunbeam in the greensward alley — 

Up and away! for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne; 

Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Et trick Forest. 

When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down sense- 
less in the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was to order 
him into the custody and care of his own attendants; but 
the words choked in his throat. He could not bring him- 
self to acknowledge, in presence of such an assembly, the 
son whom he had renounced and disinherited. He or- 
dered, however, Oswald to keep an eye upon him; and 
directed that officer, with two of his serfs, to convey 
Ivanhoe to Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed. 
Oswald, however, was anticipated in this good office. 
The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knight was nowhere 
to be seen. 

It was in vain that Cedric’s cupbearer looked around 
for his young master: he saw the bloody spot on which 
he had lately sunk down, but himself he saw no longer; 
it seemed as if the fairies had conveyed him from the spot. 
Perhaps Oswald — for the Saxons were very supersti- 
tious — might have adopted some such hypothesis to ac- 
count for Ivanhoe’s disappearance, had he not suddenly 
cast his eye upon a person attired like a squire, in whom 
he recognized the features of his fellow-servant Gurth. 
Anxious concerning his master’s fate, and in despair at 

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his sudden disappearance, the translated swineherd was 
searching for him everywhere, and had neglected, in doing 
so, the concealment on which his own safety depended. 
Oswald deemed it his duty to secure Gurth, as a fugitive 
5 of whose fate his master was to judge. 

Renewing his inquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, 
the only information which the cupbearer could collect 
from the bystanders was, that the knight had been raised 
with care by certain well-attired grooms, and placed in 
10 a litter belonging to a lady among the spectators, which 
had immediately transported him out of the press. 
Oswald, on receiving this intelligence, resolved to return 
to his master for farther instructions, carrying along 
with him Gurth, whom he considered in some sort as 
15 a deserter from the service of Cedric. 

The Saxon had been under very intense and agonizing 
apprehensions concerning Kis son, for nature had as- 
serted her rights, in spite of the patriotic stoicism which 
labored to disown her. But no sooner was he informed 
20 that Ivanhoe was in careful, and probably in friendly, 
hands than the paternal anxiety, which had been excited 
by the dubiety of his fate, gave way anew to the feeling 
of injured pride and resentment at what he termed Wil- 
fred’s filial disobedience. “ Let him wander his way,” 
25 said he; “let those leech his wounds for whose sake he 
encountered them. He is fitter to do the juggling tricks 
of the Norman chivalry than to maintain the fame and 
honor of his English ancestry with the glaive and brown- 
bill, the good old weapons of his country.” 

30 “ If to maintain the honor of ancestry,” said Rowena, 

who was present, “ it is sufficient to be wise in council 
and brave in execution, to be boldest among the bold, 
and gentlest among the gentle, I know no voice, save his 
father’s — ” 

35 “Be silent, Lady Rowena! on this subject only I hear 
you not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s festival: we 
have been summoned thither with unwonted circumstance 
of honor and of courtesy, such as the haughty Normans 
have rarely used to our race since the fatal day of Hast- 


Ivanhoe 


197 

ings. Thither will I go, were it only to show these proud 
Normans how little the fate of a son who could defeat 
their bravest can affect a Saxon.” 

“ Thither,” said Rowena, “ do I not go ; and I pray 
you to beware, lest what you mean for courage and 
constancy shall be accounted hardness of heart.” 

“ Remain at home then, ungrateful lady,” answered 
Cedric ; “ thine is the hard heart, which can sacrifice the 
weal of an oppressed people to an idle and unauthorized 
attachment. I seek the noble Athelstane, and with him 
attend the banquet of John of Anjou.” 

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have 
already mentioned the principal events. Immediately 
upon retiring from the castle, the Saxon thanes, with 
their attendants, took horse; and it was during the bustle 
which attended their doing so that Cedric for the first 
time cast his eyes upon the deserter Gurth. The noble 
Saxon had returned from the banquet, as we have seen, in 
no very placid humor, and wanted but a pretext for 
wreaking his anger upon some one. “ The gyves ! ” he 
said — “ the gyves ! Oswald — Hundebert ! Dogs and vil- 
lians ! why leave ye the knave unfettered ? ” 

Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of 
Gurth bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord 
which occurred. He submitted to the operation without 
remonstrance, except that, darting a reproachful look at 
his master, he said, “ This comes of loving your flesh and 
blood better than mine own.” 

“To horse, and forward ! ” said Cedric. 

“ It is indeed full time,” said the noble Athelstane ; 
“ for if we ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot Wal- 
theoff’s preparations for a rere-supper will be altogether 
spoiled.” 

The travelers, however, used such speed as to reach 
the convent of St. Withold’s before the- apprehended evil 
took place. The Abbot, himself of ancient Saxon descent, 
received the noble Saxons with the profuse and exuberant 
hospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to a 
late, or rather an early, hour; nor did they take leave of 


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their reverend host the next morning until they had shared 
with him a sumptuous refection. 

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an 
incident happened somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, 
5 of all people of Europe, were most addicted to a super- 
stitious observance of omens, and to whose opinions can 
be traced most of those notions upon such subjects still 
to be found among our popular antiquities. For the Nor- 
mans being a mixed race, and better informed according 
10 to the information of the times, had lost most of the 
superstitious prejudices which their ancestors had brought 
from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon thinking 
freely on such topics. 

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending 
15 evil was inspired by no less respectable a prophet than 
a large lean black dog, which, sitting upright, howled most 
piteously as the foremost riders left the gate, and pres- 
ently afterwards, barking wildly, and jumping to and fro, 
seemed bent upon attaching itself to the party. 

20 “ I like not that music, father Cedric,” said Athelstane ; 

for by this title of respect he was accustomed to address 
him. 

“Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba; “I greatly fear 
we shall have to pay the piper.” 

25 “ In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose memory 

the Abbot’s good ale — for Burton was already famous 
for that genial liquor — had made a favorable impression 
— “ in my mind we had better turn back and abide with 
the Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel 
SO where your path is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howl- 
ing dog, until you have eaten your next meal.” 

“ Away ! ” said Cedric, impatiently ; “ the day is already 
too short for our journey. For the dog, I know it to be 
the cur of the runaway slave Gurth, a useless fugitive like 
85 its master.” 

So saying, and rising at the same time in his stirrups, 
impatient at the interruption of his journey, he launched 
his javelin at poor Fangs; for Fangs it was, who, having 


Ivanhoe 


199 

traced his master thus far upon his stolen expedition, had 
here lost him, and was now, in his uncouth way, rejoic- 
ing at his reappearance. The javelin inflicted a wound 
upon the animal’s shoulder, and narrowly missed pin- 
ning him to the earth; and Fangs fled howling from the 
presence of the enraged thane. Gurth’s heart swelled 
within him; for he felt this meditated slaughter of his 
faithful adherent in a degree much deeper than the 
harsh treatment he had himself received. Having in 
vain attempted to raise his hand to his eyes, he said to 
Wamba, who, seeing his master’s ill-humor, had pru- 
dently retreated to the rear, “ I pray thee, do me the 
kindness to wipe my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; 
the dust offends me, and these bonds will not let me help 
myself one way or another.” 

Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode 
side by side for some time, during which Gurth main- 
tained a moody silence. At length he could repress his 
feelings no longer. 

“ Friend Wamba,” said he, “ of all those who are fools 
enough to serve Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity enough 
to make thy folly acceptable to him. Go to him, there- 
fore, and tell him that neither for love nor fear will 
Gurth serve him longer. He may strike the head from 
me, he may scourge me, he may load me with irons, but 
henceforth he shall never compel me either to love or to 
obey him. Go to him, then, and tell him that Gurth 
the son of Beowulf renounces his service.” 

“ Assuredly,” said Wamba, “ fool as I am, I shall not 
do your fool’s errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck 
into his girdle, and thou knowest he does not always miss 
his mark.” 

“ I care not,” replied Gurth, “how soon he makes a 
mark of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my young mas- 
ter, in his blood. To-day he has striven to kill before my 
face the only other living creature that ever showed me 
kindness. By St. Edmund, St. Dunstan, St. Withold, St 
Edward the Confessor, and every other Saxon saint in 


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the calendar (for Cedric never swore by any that was 
not of Saxon lineage, and all his household had the same 
limited devotion), I will never forgive him!” 

“ To my thinking now,” said the Jester, who was fre- 
5 quently wont to act as peacemaker in the family, “ our 
master did not propose to hurt Fangs, but only to af- 
fright him. For, if you observed, he rose in his stirrups, 
as thereby meaning to overcast the mark; and so he 
would have done, but Fangs happening to bound up at the 
10 very moment, received a scratch, which I will be bound 
to heal with a penny’s breadth of tar.” 

“If I thought so,” said Gurth — “if I could but think 
so; but no, I saw the javelin was well aimed; I heard it 
whiz through the air with all the wrathful malevolence 
15 of him who cast it, and it quivered after it had pitched 
in the ground, as if with regret for having missed its 
mark. By the hog dear to St. Anthony, I renounce him ! ” 

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen silence, 
which no efforts of the Jester could again induce him to 
20 break. 

Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the 
troop, conversed together on the state of the land, on 
the dissensions of the royal family, on the feuds and 
quarrels among the Norman nobles, and on the chance 
25 which there was that the oppressed Saxons might be 
able to free themselves from the yoke of the Normans, 
or at least to elevate themselves into national consequence 
and independence during the civil convulsions which were 
likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric was all anima- 
30 tion. The restoration of the independence of his race 
was the idol of his heart, to which he had willingly 
sacrificed domestic happiness and the interests of his 
own son. But, in order to achieve this great revolution 
in favor of the native English, it was necessary that they 
35 should be united among themselves, and act under an 
acknowledged head. The necessity of choosing their 
chief from the Saxon blood-royal was not only evident 
in itself, but had been made a solemn condition by those 
whom Cedric had entrusted with his secret plans and 


Ivanhoe 


201 


hopes. Athelstane had this quality at least; and though 
he had few mental accomplishments or talents to 
recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly per- 
son, was no coward, had been accustomed to martial 
exercises, and seemed willing to defer to the advice of 
counselors more wise than himself. Above all, he was 
known to be liberal and hospitable, and believed to be 
good-natured. But whatever pretensions Athelstane had 
to be considered as head of the Saxon confederacy, many 
of that nation were disposed to prefer to his the title of 
the Lady Rowena, who drew her descent from Alfred, 
and whose father having been a chief renowned for 
wisdom, courage, and generosity, his memory was highly 
honored by his oppressed countrymen. 

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had 
he been so disposed, to have placed himself at the head 
of a third party, as formidable at least as any of the 
others. To counterbalance their loyal descent, he had 
courage, activity, energy, and, above all, that devoted 
attachment to the cause which had procured him the 
epithet of The Saxon, and his birth was inferior to none, 
excepting only that of Athelstane and his ward. These 
qualities, however, were unalloyed by the slightest shade 
of selfishness; and, instead of dividing yet further his 
weakened nation by forming a faction of his own, it was 
a leading part of Cedric’s plan to extinguish that which 
already existed by promoting a marriage betwixt Rowena 
and Athelstane. An obstacle occurred to this his favorite 
project in the mutual attachment of his ward and his 
son; and hence the original cause of the banishment of 
Wilfred from the house of his father. 

This stern measure Cedric had adopted in hopes 
that, 'during Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might relinquish 
her preference; but in this hope he was disappointed — 
a disappointment which might be attributed in part to 
the mode in which his ward had been educated. Cedric, 
to whom the name of Alfred was as that of a deity, had 
treated the sole remaining scion of that great monarch 
with a degree of observance such as, perhaps, was in 


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those days scarce paid to an acknowledged princess. 
Rowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law to his 
household; and Cedric himself, as if determined that her 
sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within that 
5 little circle at least, seemed to take a pride in acting as 
the first of her subjects. Thus trained in the exercise not 
only of free will but despotic authority, Rowena was, 
by her previous education, disposed both to resist and 
to resent any attempt to control her affections, or dis- 
10 pose of her hand contrary to her inclinations, and to 
assert her independence in a case in which even those 
females who have been trained up to obedience and sub- 
jection are not infrequently apt to dispute the authority 
of guardians and parents. The opinions which she felt 
15 strongly she avowed boldly; and Cedric, who could not 
free himself from his habitual deference to her opinions, 
felt totally at a loss how to enforce his authority of 
guardian. 

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with 
20 the prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena, who pos- 
sessed strong sense, neither considered his plan as prac- 
ticable nor as desirable, so far as she was concerned, 
could it have been achieved. Without attempting to con- 
ceal her avowed preference of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, she 
25 declared that, were that favored knight out of question, 
she would rather take refuge in a convent than share a 
throne with Athelstane, whom, having always despised, 
she now began, on account of the trouble she received 
on his account, thoroughly to detest. 

30 Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinion of women’s con- 
stancy was far from strong, persisted in using every 
means in his power to bring about the proposed match, 
in which he conceived he was rendering an important 
service to the Saxon cause. The sudden and romantic 
35 appearance of his son in the lists at Ashby he had justly 
regarded as almost a death’s blow to his hopes. His 
paternal affection, it is true, had for an instant gained the 
victory over pride and patriotism; but both had returned 
in full force, and under their joint operation he was now 


Ivanhoe 


203 

bent upon making a determined effort for the union of 
Athelstane and Rowena, together with expediting those 
other measures which seemed necessary to forward the 
restoration of Saxon independence. 

On this last subject he was now laboring with Athel- 
stane, not without having reason, every now and then, to 
lament, like Hotspur, that he should have moved such a 
dish of skimmed milk to so honorable an action. Athel- 
stane, it is true, was vain enough, and loved to have his 
ears tickled with tales of his high descent, and of his 
right by inheritance to homage and sovereignty. But 
his petty vanity was sufficiently gratified by receiving this 
homage at’ the hands of his immediate attendants and of 
the Saxons who approached him. If he had the courage 
to encounter danger, he at least hated the trouble of 
going to seek it; and while he agreed in the general prin- 
ciples laid down by Cedric concerning the claim of the 
Saxons to independence, and was still more easily con- 
vinced of his own title to reign over them when that 
independence should be attained, yet when the means of 
asserting these rights came to be discussed, he was still 
Athelstane the Unready — slow, irresolute, procrasti- 
nating, and unenterprising. The warm and impassioned 
exhortations of Cedric had as little effect upon his im- 
passive temper as red-hot balls alighting in the water, 
which produce a little sound and smoke, and are instantly 
extinguished. 

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to 
spurring a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, 
Cedric fell back to his ward Rowena, he received little 
more satisfaction from conferring with her. For, as his 
presence interrupted the discourse between the lady and 
her favorite attendant upon the gallantry and fate of 
Wilfred, Elgitha failed not to revenge both her mistress 
and herself by recurring to the overthrow of Athelstane 
in the lists, the most disagreeable subject which could 
greet the ears of Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, therefore, 
the day’s journey was fraught with all manner of dis- 
pleasure and discomfort; so that he more than once in- 


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ternally cursed the tournament, and him who had pro- 
claimed it, together with his own folly in ever thinking 
of going thither. 

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travelers 
5 paused in a woodland shade of a fountain, to repose their 
horses and partake of some provisions, with which the 
hospitable Abbot had loaded a sumpter mule. Their re- 
past was a pretty long one; and these several interrup- 
tions rendered it impossible for them to hope to reach 
10 Rotherwood without traveling all night, a conviction which 
induced them to proceed on their way at a more hasty 
pace than they had hitherto used. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A train of armed men, some noble dame 
Escorting (so their scatter’d words discover’d, 

As unperceived I hung upon their rear), 

Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night 
Within the castle. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

The travelers had now reached the verge of the wooded 
country, and were about to plunge into its recesses, held 
dangerous at that time from the number of outlaws whom 
oppression and poverty had driven to despair, and who 
occupied the forests in such large bands as could easily 
bid defiance to the feeble police of the period. From 
these rovers, however, notwithstanding the lateness of 
the hour, Cedric and Athelstane accounted themselves 
secure, as they had in attendance ten servants, besides 
Wamba and Gurth, whose aid could not be counted upon, 
the one being a jester and the other a captive. It may 
be added, that in traveling thus late through the forest, 
Cedric and Athelstane relied on their descent and char- 
acter as well as their courage. The outlaws, whom the 
severity of the forest laws had reduced to this roving and 
desperate mode of life, were chiefly peasants and yeo- 
men of Saxon descent, and were generally supposed to 
respect the persons and property of their countrymen. 

As the travelers journeyed on their way, they were 
alarmed by repeated cries for assistance; and when they 
rode up to the place from whence they came, they were 
surprised to find a horse-litter placed upon the ground, 
beside which sat a young woman, richly dressed in the 
Jewish fashion, while an old man, whose yellow cap 
proclaimed him to belong to the same nation, walked Up 

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and down with gestures expressive of the deepest despair, 
and wrung his hands as if affected by some strange dis- 
aster. 

To the inquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old Jew 
5 could for some time only answer by invoking the pro- 
tection of all the patriarchs of the Old Testament suc- 
cessively against the sons of Ishmael, who were coming 
to smite them, hip and thigh, with the edge of the sword. 
When he began to come to himself out of this agony of 
10 terror, Isaac of York (for it was our old friend) was at 
length able to explain that he had hired a bodyguard of 
six men at Ashby, together with mules for carrying 
the litter of a sick friend. This party had undertaken to 
escort him as far as Doncaster. They had come thus 
15 far in safety; but, having received information from a 
wood-cutter that there was a strong band of outlaws 
lying in wait in the woods before them, Isaac’s mer- 
cenaries had not only taken flight, but had carried off 
with them the horses which bore the litter, and left the 
20 Jew and his daughter without the means either of de- 
fense or of retreat, to be plundered, and probably mur- 
dered, by the banditti, whom they expected every mo- 
ment would bring down upon them. “ Would it but please 
your valors,” added Isaac, in a tone of deep humiliation, 
25 “ to permit the poor Jews to travel under your safe- 
guard, I swear by the tables of our Law that never has 
favor been conferred upon a child of Israel since the 
days of our captivity which shall be more gratefully ac- 
knowledged.” 

30 “ Dog of a Jew ! ” said Athelstane, whose memory was 

of that petty kind which stores up trifles of all kinds, 
but particularly trifling offenses, “ dost not remember how 
thou didst beard us in the gallery at the tilt-yard? Fight 
or flee, or compound with the outlaws as thou dost list, 
35 ask neither aid nor company from us ; and if they rob only 
such as thee, who rob all the world, I, for mine own 
share, shall hold them right honest folk.” 

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his 
companion. “ We shall do better,” said he, “ to leave 


Ivanhoe 


207 

them two of our attendants and two horses to convey 
them back to the next village. It will diminish our 
strength but little ; and with your good sword, noble 
Athelstane, and the aid of those who remain, it will be 
light work for us to face twenty of those runagates.” 

Rowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of outlaws 
in force, and so near them, strongly seconded the pro- 
posal of her guardian. But Rebecca, suddenly quitting 
her dejected posture, and making her way through the 
attendants to the palfrey of the Saxon lady, knelt down, 
and, after 'the Oriental fashion in addressing superiors, 
kissed the hem of Rowena’s garment. Then rising and 
throwing back her veil, she implored her in the great 
name of the God whom they both worshiped, and by 
that revelation of the Law upon Mount Sinai in which 
they both believed, that she would have compassion upon 
them, and suffer them to go forward under their safe- 
guard. “ It is not for myself that I pray this favor,” 
said Rebecca ; “ nor is it even for that poor old man. I 
know, that to wrong and to spoil our nation is a light 
fault, if not a merit, with the Christians; and what is it 
to us whether it be done in the city, in the desert, or in 
the field? But it is in the name of one dear to many, 
and dear even to you, that I beseech you to let this sick 
person be transported with care and tenderness under 
your protection. For, if evil chance him, the last 
moment of your life would be embittered with regret for 
denying that* which I ask" of you.” 

The noble and solemn air with which Rebecca made 
this appeal gave it double weight with the fair Saxon. 

“ The man is old and feeble,” she said to her guardian, 
“ the maiden young and beautiful, their friend sick and 
in peril of his life; Jews though they be, we cannot as 
Christians leave them in this extremity. Let them un- 
load two of the sumpter mules and put the baggage be- 
hind two of the serfs. The mules may transport the 
litter, and we have led horses for the old man and his 
daughter.” 

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and 


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Ivanhoe 


Athelstane only added the condition, “ That they should 
travel in the rear of the whole party, where Wamba,” he 
said, “ might attend them with his shield of boar’s brawn.” 

“ I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,” answered the 
5 Jester, “ as has been the fate of many a better knight 
than myself.” 

Athelstane colored deeply, for such had been his own 
fate on the last day of the tournament; while Rowena, 
who was pleased in the same proportion, as if to make 
10 amends for the brutal jest of her unfeeling suitor, re- 
quested Rebecca to ride by her side. 

“ It were not fit I should do so,” answered Rebecca, 
with proud humility, “ where my society might be held a 
disgrace to my protectress.” 

15 By this time the change of baggage was hastily 
achieved ; for the single word “ outlaws ” rendered every 
one sufficiently alert, and the approach of twilight made 
the sound yet more impressive. Amid the bustle, Gurth 
was taken from horseback, in the course of which re- 
20 moval he prevailed upon the Jester to slack the cord with 
which his arms were bound. It was so negligently re- 
fastened, perhaps intentionally, on the part of Wamba, 
that Gurth found no difficulty in freeing his arms alto- 
gether from bondage, and then, gliding into the thicket, 
25 he made his escape from the party. 

The bustle had been considerable, and it was some 
time before Gurth was missed; for, as he was to be 
placed for the rest of the journey behind a servant, every 
one supposed that some other of his companions had him 
30 under his custody, and when it began to be whispered 
among them that Gurth had actually disappeared, they 
were under such immediate expectation of an attack 
from the outlaws that it was not held convenient to pay 
much attention to the circumstance. 

35 The path upon which the party traveled was now so 
narrow as not to admit, with any sort of convenience, 
above two riders abreast, and began to descend into a 
dingle, traversed by a brook whose banks were broken, 
swampy, and overgrown with dwarf willows. Cedric 


Ivanhoe 


209 

and Athelstane, who were at the head of their retinue, saw 
the risk of being attacked at this pass; but neither of 
them having had much practice in war, no better mode 
of preventing the danger occurred to them than that 
they should hasten through the defile as fast as possible. 
Advancing, therefore, without much order, they had just 
crossed the brook with a part of their followers, when 
they were assailed in front, flank, and rear at once, with 
an impetuosity to which, in their confused and ill-pre- 
pared condition, it was impossible to offer effectual re- 
sistance. The shout of “ A white dragon ! — a white 
dragon ! St. George for merry England ! ” war-cries 
adopted by the assailants, as belonging to their assumed 
character of Saxon outlaws, was heard on every side, 
and on every side enemies appeared with a rapidity of 
advance and attack which seemed to multiply their num- 
bers. 

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the 
same moment, and each under circumstances expressive 
of his character. Cedric, the instant that an enemy ap- 
peared, launched at him his remaining javelin, which, 
taking better effect than that which he had hurled at 
Fangs, nailed the man against an oak-tree that happened 
to be close behind him. Thus far successful, Cedric 
spurred his horse against a second, drawing his sword at 
the same time, and striking with such inconsiderate fury 
that his weapon encountered a thick branch which hung 
over him, and he was disarmed by the violence of his 
own blow. He was instantly mada prisoner, and pulled 
from his horse by two or three of the banditti who crowded 
around him. Athelstane shared his captivity, his bridle 
having been seized and he himself forcibly dismounted 
long before he could draw his weapon or assume any 
posture of effectual defense. 

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised 
and terrified at the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey 
to the assailants; while the Lady Rowena, in the center 
of the cavalcade, and the Jew and his daughter in the 
rear, experienced the same misfortune. 


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Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who 
showed upon the occasion much more courage than those 
who pretended to greater sense. He possessed himself of 
a sword belonging to one of the domestics, who was just 
5 drawing it with a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it about 
him like a lion, drove back several who approached him, 
and made a brave though ineffectual attempt to succor 
his master. Finding himself overpowered, the Jester at 
length threw himself from his horse, plunged into the 
10 thicket, and, favored by the general confusion, escaped 
from the scene of action. 

Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself 
safe, hesitated more than once whether he should not 
turn back and share the captivity of a master to whom 
15 he was sincerely attached. 

“ I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,” 
he said to himself, “ but I wish any wise man would teach 
me what use to make of it now that I have it.” 

As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very near 
20 him called out in a low and cautious tone, “ Wamba ! ” 
and at the same time a dog, which he recognized to be 
Fangs, jumped up and fawned upon him. “ Gurth ! ” an- 
swered Wamba with the same caution, and the swineherd 
immediately stood before him. 

25 “ What is the matter?” said he, eagerly; “what mean 

these cries and that clashing of swords?” 

“Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba; “they are 
all prisoners.” 

“ Who are prisoners ? ” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently. 

30 “ My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundebert, 

and Oswald.” 

“ In the name of God ! ” said Gurth, “ how came they 
prisoners ? and to whom ? ” 

“Our master was too ready to fight,” said the Jester, 
35 “ and Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other 
person was ready at all. And they are prisoners to green 
cassocks and black visors. And they lie all tumbled about 
on the green, like the crab-apples that you shake down 
to your swine. And I would laugh at it,” said the honest 


Ivanhoe 21 1 

Jester, “ if I could for weeping.” And he shed tears of 
unfeigned sorrow. 

Gurth’s countenance kindled. “ Wamba,” he said, 
“ thou hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever stronger 
than thy brain; we are only two, but a sudden attack 
from men of resolution will do much ; follow me ! ” 

“ Whither? and for what purpose? ” said the Jester. 

“ To rescue Cedric.” 

“ But you have renounced his service but now,” said 
Wamba. 

“ That,” said Gurth, “ was but while he was fortunate ; 
follow me ! ” 

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person sud- 
denly made his appearance and commanded them both to 
halt. From his dress and arms, Wamba would have 
conjectured him to be one of those outlaws who had just 
assailed his master; but, besides that he wore no mask, 
the glittering baldric across his shoulder, with the rich 
bugle-horn which it supported, as well as the calm and 
commanding expression of his voice and manner, made 
him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognize Locksley, the 
yeoman who had been victorious, under such disadvan- 
tageous circumstances, in the contest for the prize of 
archery. 

“ What is the meaning of all this,” said he, “ or who 
is it that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners in these 
forests ? ” 

“ You may look at their cassocks close by,” said Wamba, 
“ and see whether they be thy children’s coats or no ; 
for they are as like thine own as one green pea-cod is to 
another.” 

“ I will learn that presently,” answered Locksley ; “ and 
I charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir from the 
place where ye stand, until I have returned. Obey me, 
and it shall be the better for you and your masters. Yet 
stay, I must render myself as like these men as possible.” 

So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, 
took a feather from his cap, and gave them to Wamba; 
then drew a vizard from his. pouch, and repeating his 


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212 Ivanhoe 

charges to them to stand fast, went to execute his pur- 
poses of reconnoitering. 

“ Shall we stand fast, Gurth ? ” said Wamba, “ or shall 
we e’en give him leg-bail? In my foolish mind, he had 
5 all the equipage of a thief too much in readiness to be 
himself a true man.” 

“ Let him be the devil,” said Gurth, “ an he will. We 
can be no worse of waiting his return. If he belong to 
that party, he must already have given them the alarm, 
10 and it will avail nothing either to fight or fly. Besides, 
I have late experience that arrant thieves are not the 
worst men in the world to have to deal with.” 

The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes. 

“ Friend Gurth,” he said, “ I have mingled among yon 
15 men, and have learned to whom they belong, and whither 
they are bound. There is, I think, no chance that they 
will proceed to any actual violence against their pris- 
oners. For three men to attempt them at this moment 
were little else than madness; for they are good men of 
20 war, and have, as such, placed sentinels to give the alarm 
when any one approaches. But I trust soon to gather 
such a force as may act in defiance of all their precau- 
tions. You are both servants, and as I think, faithful 
servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of the rights 
25 of Englishmen. He shall not want English hands to help 
him in this extremity. Come, then, with me, until I 
gather more aid.” 

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, 
followed by the jester and the swineherd. It was not 
30 consistent with Wamba’s humor to travel long in silence. 

“ I think,” said he, looking at the baldric and bugle 
which he still carried, “that I saw the arrow shot which 
won this gay prize, and that not so long since as Christ- 
mas.” 

35 “ And I,” said Gurth, “ could take it on my halidome that 

I have heard the voice of the good yeoman who won it, 
by night as well as by day, and that the moon is not three 
days older since I did so.” 

“ Mine honest friends,” replied the yeoman, “ who or 


Ivanhoe 


213 

what I am is little to the present purpose; should I free 
your master, you will have reason to think me the best 
friend you have ever had in your lives. And whether 
I am known by one name or another, or whether I can 
draw a bow as well or better than a cow-keeper, or whether 5 
it is my pleasure to walk in sunshine or by moonlight, are 
matters which, as they do not concern you, so neither 
need ye busy yourselves respecting them.” 

“ Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,” said Wamba, in a 
whisper to Gurth, “ get them out how we can.” 1' 

“ Hush — be silent,” said Gurth. “ Offend him not by 
thy folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go well.” 


CHAPTER XX 


When autumn nights were long and drear, 

And forest walks were dark and dim, 

How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear 
Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn! 

Devotion borrows Music’s tone, 

And Music took Devotion’s wing; 

And, like the bird that hails the sun, 

They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St. Clement’s Well. 

It was after three hours’ good walking that the servants 
of Cedric, with their mysterious guide, arrived at a small 
opening in the forest, in the center of which grew an 
oak-tree of enormous magnitude, throwing its twisted 
5 branches in every direction. Beneath this tree four or 
five yeoman lay stretched on the ground, while another, 
as sentinel, walked to and fro in the moonlight shade. 

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch 
instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly 
10 started up and bent their bows. Six arrows placed on 
the string were pointed towards the quarter from which 
the travelers approached, when their guide, being rec- 
ognized, was welcomed with every token of respect and 
attachment, and all signs and fears of a rough reception 
15 at once subsided. 

“ Where is the Miller ? ” was his first question. 

“ On the road towards Rotherham.” 

“ With how many ? ” demanded the leader, for such he 
seemed to be. 

20 “ With six men, and good hope of booty, if it please 

St. Nicholas.” 

“ Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley ; “ and where is 
Allan-a-Dale ? ” 


214 


Ivanhoe 


2I 5 

“ Walked up towards the Watling Street to watch for 
the Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

“ That is well thought on also,” replied the Captain ; 
“and where is the Friar?” 

“ In his cell.” 

“ Thither will I go,” said Locksley. “ Disperse and 
seek your companions. Collect what force you can, for 
there’s game afoot that must be hunted hard, and will 
turn to bay. Meet me here by daybreak. And, stay,” he 
added, “ I have forgotten what is most necessary of the 
whole. Two of you take the road quickly towards Tor- 
quilstone, the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. A set of gallants, 
who have been masquerading in such guise as our own, 
are carrying a band of prisoners thither. Watch them 
closely, for even if they reach the castle before we collect 
our force, our honor is concerned to punish them, and 
we will find means to do so. Keep a close watch on them, 
therefore ; and despatch one of your comrades, the lightest 
of foot, to bring the news of the yeomen thereabout.” 

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with 
alacrity on their different errands. In the meanwhile, 
their leader and his two companions, who now looked upon 
him with great respect, as well as some fear, pursued 
their way to the chapel of Copmanhurst. 

When they had reached the little moonlight glade, hav- 
ing in front the reverend though ruinous chapel and the 
rude hermitage, so well suited to ascetic devotion, Wamba 
whispered to Gurth, “ If this be the habitation of a thief, 
it makes good the old proverb, ‘ The nearer the church the 
farther from God.’ And by my cockscomb,” he added, “ I 
think it be even so. Hearken but to the black sanctus 
which they are singing in the hermitage ! ” 

In fact, the anchorite and his guest were performing, 
at the full extent of their very powerful lungs, an old 
drinking song, of which this was the burden : 

“ Come, trowl the brown bowl to me, 

Bully boy, bully boy, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me. 


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Ivanhoe 


Ho! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.” 

“ Now, that is not ill sung,” said Wamba, who had 
5 thrown in a few of his own flourishes to help out the 
chorus. “ But who, in the saint’s name, ever expected to 
have heard such a jolly chant come from out a hermit’s 
cell at midnight ! ” 

“ Marry, that should I,” said Gurth, “ for the jolly 
10 clerk of Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills half the 
deer that are stolen in this walk. Men say that the keeper 
has complained to his official, and that he will be stripped 
of his cowl and cope altogether if he keep not better 
order.” 

15 While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud and 
repeated knocks had at length disturbed the anchorite and 
his guest. “ By my beads,” said the hermit, stopping 
short in a grand flourish, “ here come more benighted 
guests. I would not for my cowl that they found us in 
20 this goodly exercise. All men have their enemies, good 
Sir Sluggard; and there be those malignant enough to 
construe the hospitable refreshment which I have been 
offering to you, a weary traveler, for the matter of three 
short hours, into sheer drunkenness and debauchery, vices 
25 alike alien to my profession and my disposition.” 

“ Base calumniators ! ” replied the knight ; “ I would I 
had the chastising of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, it 
is true that all have their enemies; and there be those in 
this very land whom I would rather speak to through the 
30 bars of my helmet than barefaced.” 

“ Get thine iron pot on thy head then, friend Sluggard, 
as quickly as thy nature will permit,” said the hermit, 
“ while I remove these pewter flagons, whose late con- 
tents run strangely in mine own pate; and to drown the 
35 clatter — for, in faith, I feel somewhat unsteady — strike 
into the tune which thou hearest me sing. It is no matter 
for the words ; I scarce know them myself.” 

So saying, he struck up a thundering De profundis 
clamavij under cover of which he removed, the apparatus 


Ivanhoe 


217 

of their banquet; while the knight, laughing heartily, and 
arming himself all the while, assisted his host with his 
voice from time to time as his mirth permitted. 

“ What devil’s matins are you after at this hour ? ” said 
a voice from without. 5 

“Heaven forgive you, Sir Traveler ! ” said the hermit, 
whose own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal potations, pre- 
vented from recognizing accents which were tolerably 
familiar to him. “ Wend on your way, in the name of 
God and St. Dunstan, and disturb not the devotions of me 10 
and my holy brother.” 

“ Mad priest,” answered the voice from without, “ open 
to Locksley ! ” 

“ All’s safe — all’s right,” said the hermit to his com- 
panion. 15 

“ But who is he?” said the Black Knight; “it imports 
me much to know.” 

“ Who is he ! ” answered the hermit ; “ I tell thee he is 
a friend.” 

“ But what friend ? ” answered the knight ; “ for he 20 
may be friend to thee and none of mine.” 

“ What friend ! ” replied the hermit ; “ that, now, is one 
of the questions that is more easily asked than answered. 
What friend! why, he is, now that I bethink me a little, 
the very same honest keeper I told thee of a while 25 
since.” 

“Aye, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious hermit,” 
replied the knight, “I doubt it not. But undo the door 
to him before he beat it from its hinges.” 

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dreadful 30 
baying at the commencement of the disturbance, seemed 
now to recognize the voice of him who stood without; for, 
totally changing their manner, they scratched and whined 
at the door, as if interceding for his admission. The her- 
mit speedily unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley, 35 
with his two companions. 

“ Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question as soon 
as he beheld the knight, “ what boon companion hast thou 
here?” 


2 I 8 


Ivanhoe 


“ A brother of our order/' replied the Friar, shaking his 
head ; “ we have been at our orisons all night/’ 

“ He is a monk of the church militant, I think,” an- 
swered Locksley ; “ and there be more of them abroad. I 
5 tell thee, Friar, thou must lay down the rosary and take 
up the quarter-staff ; we shall need every one of our merry 
men, whether clerk or layman. But,” he added, taking 
him a step aside, “ art thou mad ? to give admittance to 
a knight thou dost not know? Hast thou forgot our 
10 articles?” 

“ Not know him ! ” replied the Friar, boldly, “ I know 
him as well as the beggar knows his dish.” 

“ And what is his name, then ? ” demanded Locksley. 

“ His name,” said the hermit — “ his name is Sir An- 
15 thony of Scrabelstone ; as if I would drink with a man, 
and did not know his name ! ” 

“ Thou hast been drinking more than enough, Friar,” 
said the woodsman, “ and, I fear, prating more than 
enough too.” 

20 “ Good yeoman,” said the knight, coming forward, “ be 

not wroth with my merry host. He did but afford me the 
hospitality which I would have compelled from him if he 
had refused it.” 

“Thou compel!” said the Friar; “wait but till I have 
25 changed this gray gown for a green cassock, and if I 
make not a quarter-staff ring twelve upon thy pate, I am 
neither true clerk nor good woodsman.” 

While he spoke thus, he stripped off his gown, and ap- 
peared in a close black buckram doublet and drawers, 
SO over which he speedily did on a cassock of green and 
hose of the same color. “ I pray thee, truss my points,” 
said he to Wamba, “ and thou shalt have a cup of sack 
for thy labor.” 

“ Gramercy for thy sack,” said Wamba; “but think’st 
S5 thou it is lawful for me to aid you to transmew thyself 
from a holy hermit into a sinful forester ? ” 

“ Never fear,” said the hermit;, “ I will but confess the 
sins of my green cloak to my gray friar’s frock, and all 
shall be well again.” 


Ivanhoe 


219 

“ Amen ! ” answered the Jester. “ A broadcloth peni- 
tent should have a sackcloth confessor, and your frock 
may absolve my motley doublet into the bargain.” 

So saying, he accommodated the Friar with his assist- 
ance in tying the endless number of points, as the laces 
which attached the hose to the doublet were then termed. 

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the knight 
a little apart, and addressed him thus : “ Deny it not, Sir 
Knight, you are he who decided the victory to the ad- 
vantage of the English against the strangers on the second 
day of the tournament at Ashby.” 

“And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman?” 
replied the knight. 

“ I should in that case hold you,” replied the yeoman, 
“ a friend to the weaker party.” 

“ Such is the duty of a true knight at least,” replied the 
Black Champion ; “ and I would not willingly that there 
were reason to think otherwise of me.” 

“ But for my purpose,” said the yeoman, “ thou shouldst 
be as well a good Englishman as a good knight; for that 
which I have to speak of concerns, indeed, the duty of 
every honest man, but is more especially that of a true- 
born native of England.” 

“ You can speak to no one,” replied the knight, “ to 
whom England, and the life of every Englishman, can 
be dearer than to me.” 

“ I would willingly believe so,” said the* woodsman, 
“ for never had this country such need to be supported by 
those who love her. Hear me, and I will tell thee of an 
enterprise in which, if thou be’st really that which thou 
seemest, thou mayst take an honorable part. A band of 
villains, in the disguise of better men than themselves, 
have made themselves master of the person of a noble 
Englishman, called Cedric the Saxon, together with his 
ward and his friend Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and 
have transported them to a castle in this forest called 
Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a good knight and a 
good Englishman, wilt thou aid in their rescue ? ” 

“ I am bound by my vow to do so,” replied the knight ; 


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“ but I would willingly know who you are, who request 
my assistance in their behalf?” 

“ I am,” said the forester, “ a nameless man ; but I am 
the friend of my country, and of my country’s friends. 

5 With this account of me you must for the present re- 
main satisfied, the more especially since you yourself de- 
sire to continue unknown. Believe, however, that my 
word, when pledged, is as inviolate as if I wore golden 
spurs.” 

10 “ I willingly believe it,” said the knight ; “ I have been 

accustomed to study men’s countenances, and I can read 
in thine honesty and resolution. I will, therefore, ask 
thee no further questions, but aid thee in setting at free- 
dom these oppressed captives ; which done, I trust we shall 

15 part better acquainted, and well satisfied with each other.” 

‘‘So,” said Wamba to Gurth; for the Friar being now 
fully equipped, the Jester, having approached to the other 
side of the hut, had heard the conclusion of the conversa- 
tion, “ so we have got a new ally ? I trust the valor of 

20 the knight will be truer metal than the religion of the 
hermit or the honesty of the yeoman; for this Locksley 
looks like a born deer-stealer, and the priest like a lusty 
hypocrite.” 

“ Hold thy peace, Wamba,” said Gurth ; “ it may all be 

25 as thou dost guess; but were the horned devil to rise and 
proffer me his assistance to set at liberty Cedric and the 
Lady Rowerla, I fear I should hardly have religion enough 
to refuse the foul fiend’s offer, and bid him get behind 
me. 

30 The Friar was now completely accoutered as a yeoman, 
with sword and buckler, bow and quiver, and a strong 
partisan over his shoulder. He left his cell at the head of 
the party, and, having carefully locked the door, deposited 
the key under the threshold. 

35 “Art thou in condition to do good service, Friar,” 
said Locksley, “ or does the brown bowl still run in thy 
head?” 

“ Not more than a draught of St. Dunstan’s fountain 
will allay,” answered the priest ; “ something there is of 


Ivanhoe 


221 


a whizzing in my brain, and instability in my legs, but 
you shall presently see both pass away.” 

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which the 
waters of the fountain as they fell formed bubbles which 
danced in the white moonlight, and took so long a draught 
as if he had meant to exhaust the spring. 

“ When didst thou drink as deep a draught of water 
before, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ? ” said the ’Black 
Knight. 

“ Never since my wine butt leaked, and let out its 
liquor by an illegal vent,” replied the Friar, “ and so left 
me nothing to drink but my patron’s bounty here.” 

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, 
he washed from them all marks of the midnight revel. 

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled his 
heavy partisan round his head with three fingers, as if 
he had been balancing a reed, exclaiming at the same 
time, “ Where be those false ravishers who carry off 
wenches against their will? May the foul fiend fly off 
with me, if I am not man enough for a dozen of them.” 

“ Swearest thou, Holy Clerk ? ” said the Black Knight. 

“ Clerk me no clerks,” replied the transformed priest ; 
“ by St. George and the Dragon, I am no longer a shavel- 
ing than while my frock is on my back. When I am 
cased in my green cassock, I will drink, swear, and woo 
a lass with any blithe forester in the West Riding.” 

“ Come on, Jack Priest,” said Locksley, “ and be silent ; 
thou art as noisy as a whole convent on a holy eve, when 
the Father Abbot has gone to bed. Come on you, too, 
my masters, tarry not to talk of it — I say, come on ; we 
must collect all our forces, and few enough we shall have, 
if we are to storm the castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.” 

“ What ! is it Front-de-Boeuf,” said the Black Knight, 
“ who has stopped on the king’s highway the king’s liege 
subjects? Is he turned thief and oppressor?” 

“ Oppressor he ever was,” said Locksley. 

“ And for thief,” said the priest, “ I doubt if ever he 
were even half so honest a man as many a thief of my 
acquaintance.” 


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“ Move on, Priest, and be silent,” said the yeoman ; “ it 
were better you led the way to the place of rendezvous 
than say what should be left unsaid, both in decency and 
prudence.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Alas, how many hours and years have past, 

Since human forms have round this table sate. 

Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam’d! 

Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass’d 
Still murmuring o’er us, in the lofty void 
Of these dark arches, like the ling’ring voices 
Of those who long within their graves have slept. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric 
and his companions, the armed men by whom the latter 
had been seized hurried their captives along towards the 
place of security where they intended to imprison them. 
But darkness came on fast, and the paths of the wood 
seemed but imperfectly known to the marauders. They 
were compelled to make several long halts, and once or 
twice to return on their road to resume the direction 
which they wished to pursue. The summer morn had 
dawned upon them ere they could travel in full assurance 
that they held the right path. But confidence returned 
with light, and the cavalcade now moved rapidly forward. 
Meanwhile, the following dialogue took place between 
the two leaders of the banditti: — 

“ It is time thou shouldst leave us, Sir Maurice,” said 
the Templar to De Bracy, “ in order to prepare the sec- 
ond part of thy mystery. Thou are next, thou knowest, 
to act the Knight Deliverer.” 

“ I have thought better of it,” said De Bracy ; “ I will 
not leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited in Front- 
de-Boeuf’s castle. There will I appear before the Lady 
Rowena in mine own shape, and trust that she will set 
down to the vehemence of my passion the violence of 
which I have been guilty.” 


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“ And what has made thee change thy plan, De 
Bracy?” replied the Knight Templar. 

“ That concerns thee nothing,” answered his com- 
panion. 

5 “I would hope, however, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, 
“ that this alteration of measures arises from no suspicion 
of my honorable meaning, such as Fitzurse endeavored 
to instill into thee ? ” 

“ My thoughts are my own,” answered De Bracy ; 
10 “ the fiend laughs, they say, when one thief robs another ; 
and we know, that were he to spit fire and brimstone 
instead, it would never prevent a Templar from follow- 
ing his bent.” 

“ Or the leader of a Free Company,” answered the 
15 Templar, “ from dreading at the hands of a comrade and 
friend the injustice he does to all mankind.” 

“ This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,” an- 
swered De Bracy ; “ suffice it to say, I know the morals of 
the Temple Order, and I will not give thee the power 
20 of cheating me out of the fair prey for which I have 
run such risks.” 

“ Psha,” replied the Templar, “what hast thou to fear? 
Thou knowest the vows of our order.” 

“ Right well,” said De Bracy, “ and also how they are 
25 kept. Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have 
a liberal interpretation in Palestine, and this is a case 
in which I will trust nothing to your conscience.” 

“Hear the truth, then,” said the Templar; “I care 
not for your blue-eyed beauty. There is in that train 
30 one who will make me a better mate.” 

“ What ! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel ? ” 
said De Bracy. 

“ No, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, haughtily. “ To 
the waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have a prize 
35 among the captives as lovely as thine own.” 

“ By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess ! ” said 
De Bracy. 

“ And if I do,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ who shall gainsay 


Ivanhoe 


225 

“ No one that I know,” said De Bracy, “ unless it be 
your vow of celibacy or a check of conscience for an 
intrigue with a Jewess.” 

“ For my vow,” said the Templar, “ our Grand Master 
hath granted me a dispensation. And for my con- 
science, a man that has slain three hundred Saracens 
need not reckon up every little failing, like a village girl 
at her first confession upon Good Friday eve.” 

“ Thou knowest best thine own privileges,” said De 
Bracy. “ Yet, I would have sworn thy thought had 
been more on the old usurer’s money-bags than on the 
black eyes of the daughter.” 

“I can admire both,” answered the Templar; “besides, 
the old Jew is but half-prize. I must share his spoils 
with Front-de-Boeuf, who will not lend us the use of his 
castle for nothing. I must have something that I can 
term exclusively my own by this foray of ours, and I 
have fixed on the lovely Jewess as my peculiar prize. 
But, now thou knowest my drift, thou wilt resume thine 
own original plan, wilt thou not? Thou hast nothing, 
thou seest, to fear from my interference.” 

“ No,” replied De Bracy, “ I will remain beside my 
prize. What thou sayst is passing true, but I like not the 
privileges acquired by the dispensation of the Grand 
Master, and the merit acquired by the slaughter of three 
hundred Saracens. You have too good a right to a 
free pardon to render you very scrupulous about pec- 
cadillos.” 

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was en- 
deavoring to wring out of those who guarded him an 
avowal of their character and purpose. “ You should 
be Englishmen,” said me ; “ and yet, sacred Heaven ! 
you prey upon your countrymen as if you were very 
Normans. You should be my neighbors, and, if so, my 
friends; for which of my English neighbors have reason 
to be otherwise? I tell ye, yeomen, that even those 
among ye who have been branded with outlawry have had 
from me protection; for I have pitied their miseries, and 
cursed the oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What, 


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then, would you have of me? or in what can this violence 
serve ye? Ye are worse than brute beasts in your ac- 
tions, and will you imitate them in their very dumbness ? ” 

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, 

5 who had too many good reasons for their silence to be 
induced to break it either by his wrath or his expostula- 
tions. They continued to hurry him along, traveling at 
a very rapid rate, until, at the end of an avenue of huge 
trees, arose Torquilstone, now the hoary and ancient 
10 castle of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf. It was a fortress of 
no great size, consisting of a donjon, or large and high 
square tower, surrounded by buildings of inferior height, 
which were encircled by an inner courtyard. Around the 
exterior wall was a deep moat, supplied with water from 
15 a neighboring rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose character 
placed him often at feud with his enemies, had made 
considerable additions to the strength of his castle, by 
building towers upon the outward wall, so as to flank 
it at every angle. The access, as usual in castles of the 
20 period, lay through an arched barbican, or outwork, 
which was terminated and defended by a small turret 
at each corner. 

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Bceuf’s i 
castle raise their gray and moss-grown battlements, ' 
25 glimmering in the morning sun above the wood by which 
they were surrounded, than he instantly augured more 
truly concerning the cause of his misfortune. 

“ I did injustice,” he said, “ to the thieves and outlaws 
of these woods, when I supposed such banditti to belong 
30 to their bands; I might as justly have confounded the 
foxes of these brakes with the ravening wolves of France. 
Tell me, dogs, is it my life or my wealth that your master 
aims at? Is it too much that two Saxons, myself and 
the noble Athelstane, should hold land in the country 
35 which was once the patrimony of our race? Put us, 
then, to death, and complete your tyranny by taking our 
lives, as you began with our liberties. If the Saxon 
Cedric cannot rescue England, he is willing to die for her. 
Tell your tyrannical master, I do only beseech him to dis- 


Ivanhoe 


227 

miss the Lady Rowena in honor and safety. She is a 
woman, and he need not dread her; and with us will die 
all who dare fight in her cause.” 

The attendants remained as mute to this address as 
to the former, and they now stood before the gate of 
the castle. De Bracy winded his horn three times, and 
the archers and crossbow men, who had manned the 
wall upon seeing their approach, hastened to lower the 
drawbridge and admit them. The prisoners were com- 
pelled by their guards to alight, and were conducted to 
an apartment where a hasty repast was offered them, 
of which none but Athelstane felt any inclination to par- 
take. Neither had the descendant of the Confessor much 
time to do justice to the good cheer placed before them, 
for their guards gave him and Cedric to understand that 
they were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart from 
Rowena. Resistance was vain ; and they were com- 
pelled to follow to a large room, which, rising on clumsy 
Saxon pillars, resembled those refectories and chapter- 
houses which may be still seen in the most ancient parts 
of our most ancient monasteries. 

The Lady Rowena was next separated from her train, 
and conducted, with courtesy, indeed, but still without 
consulting her inclination, to a distant apartment. The 
same alarming distinction was conferred on Rebecca, in 
spite of her father’s entreaties, who offered even money, 
in this extremity of distress, that she might be permitted 
to abide with him. “ Base unbeliever,” answered one 
of his guards, “ when thou hast seen thy lair, thou wilt 
not wish thy daughter to partake it.” And, without farther 
discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged off in a 
different direction from the other prisoners. The do- 
mestics, after being carefully searched and disarmed, were 
confined in another part of the castle; and Rowena was 
refused even the comfort she might have derived from 
the attendance of her handmaiden Elgitha. 

The apartment in*which the Saxon chiefs were con- 
fined, for to them we turn our first attention, although 
at present used as a sort of guard-room, had formerly 


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been the great hall of the castle. It was now abandoned 
to meaner purposes, because the present lord, among 
other additions to the convenience, security, and beauty 
of his baronial residence, had erected a new and noble 
5 hall, whose vaulted roof was supported by lighter and 
more elegant pillars, and fitted up with that higher de- 
gree of ornament which the Normans had already intro- 
duced into architecture. 

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant re- 
10 flections on the past and on the present, while the apathy 
of his companion served, instead of patience and philos- 
ophy, to defend him against everything save the incon- 
venience of the present moment; and so little did he feel 
even this last, that he was only from time to time roused 
15 to a reply by Cedric’s animated and impassioned appeal 
to him. 

“ Yes,” said Cedric, half speaking to himself and half 
addressing himself to Athelstane, “ it was in this very 
hall that my [grand-] father feasted with Torquil Wolf- 
20 ganger, when he entertained the valiant and unfortunate 
Harold, then advancing against the Norwegians, who 
had united themselves to the rebel Tosti. It was in this 
hall that Harold returned the magnanimous answer to 
the ambassador of his rebel brother. Oft have I heard 
25 my father kindle as he told the tale. The envoy of Tosti 
was admitted, when this ample room could scarce contain 
the crowd of noble Saxon leaders who were quaffing the 
blood-red wine around their monarch.” 

“ I hope,” said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this 
30 part of his friend’s discourse, “ they will not forget to 
send us some wine and refections at noon : we had scarce 
a breathing-space allowed to break our fast, and I never 
have the benefit of my food when I eat immediately after 
dismounting from horseback, though the leeches recom- 
35 mend that practice.” 

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this 
interjectional observation of his fAend. 

“ The envoy of Tosti,” he said, “ moved up the hall, 
undismayed by the frowning countenances of all around 


Ivanhoe 


229 

him, until he made his obeisance before the throne of 
King Harold.” 

What terms/ he said, ‘ Lord King, hath thy brother 
Tosti to hope, if he should lay down his arms and crave 
peace at thy hands ? * 

“ ‘ A brother’s love/ cried the generous Harold, ‘ and 
the fair earldom of Northumberland/ 

But should Tosti accept these terms/ continued the 
envoy, “ what lands shall be assigned to his faithful ally, 
Hardrada, King of Norway?’ 

“ ‘ Seven feet of English ground,’ answered Harold, 
fiercely, ‘ or, as Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps 
we may allow him twelve inches more/ 

“ The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn 
was filled to the Norwegian, who should be speedily in 
possession of his English territory.” 

“ I could have pledged him with all my soul,” said 
Athelstane, “ for my tongue cleaves to my palate.” 

“ The baffled envoy,” continued Cedric, pursuing with 
animation his tale, though it interested not the listener, 
“ retreated, to carry to Tosti and his ally the ominous 
answer of his injured brother. It was then that the 
distant towers of York and the bloody streams of the 
Derwent beheld that direful conflict, in which, after 
displaying the most undaunted valor, the King of Norway 
and Tosti both fell, with ten thousand of their bravest 
followers. Who would have thought that, upon the 
proud day when this battle was won, the very gale which 
waved the Saxon banners in triumph was filling the Nor- 
man sails, and impelling them to the fatal shores of 
Sussex? Who would have thought that Harold, within 
a few brief days, would himself possess no more of his 
kingdom than the share which he allotted in his wrath 
to the Norwegian invader? Who would have thought 
that you, noble Athelstane — that you, descended of 
Harold’s blood, and that I, whose father was not the worst 
defender of the Saxon crown, should be prisoners to a 
vile Norman, in the very hall in which our ancestors 
held such high festival ? ” 


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230 Ivanhoe 

“It is sad enough;” replied Athelstane; “but I trust 
they will hold us to a moderate ransom. At any rate, 
it cannot be their purpose to starve us outright; and yet, 
although it is high noon, I see no preparations for serving 
5 dinner. Look up at the window, noble Cedric, and judge 
by the sunbeams if it is not on the verge of noon.” 

“ It may be so,” answered Cedric ; “ but I cannot look 
on that stained lattice without its awakening other re- 
flections than those which concern the passing moment 
10 or its privations. When that window was wrought, my 
noble friend, our hardy fathers knew not the art of mak- 
ing glass, or of staining it. The pride of Wolfganger’s 
father brought an artist from Normandy to adorn his 
hall with this new species of emblazonment, that breaks 
15 the golden light of God’s blessed day into so many 
fantastic hues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly, 
cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his cap to the 
meanest native of the household. He returned pampered 
and proud to tell his rapacious countrymen of the wealth 
20 and the simplicity of the Saxon nobles — a folly, oh 
Athelstane ! foreboded of old, as well as foreseen by those 
descendants of Hengist and his hardy tribes who re- 
tained the simplicity of their manners. We made these 
strangers our bosom friends, our confidential servants; 
25 we borrowed their artists and their arts, and despised the 
honest simplicity and hardihood with which our brave 
ancestors supported themselves ; and we became enervated 
by Norman arts long ere we fell under Norman arms. 
Far better was our homely diet, eaten in peace and liberty, 
30 than the luxurious dainties, the love of which hath de- 
livered us as bondsmen to the foreign conqueror ! ” 

‘ l I should,” replied Athelstane, “ hold very humble diet 
a luxury at present; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, 
that you can bear so truly in mind the memory of past 
35 deeds, when it appeareth you forget the very hour of 
dinner.” 

“ It is time lost,” muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, 
“ to speak to him of aught else but that which concerns 
his appetite! The soul of Hardicanute hath taken pos- 


Ivanhoe 


231 

session of him, and he hath no pleasure save to fill, to 
swill, and to call for more. Alas ! ” said he, looking at 
Athelstane with compassion, “ that so dull a spirit should 
be lodged in so goodly a form ! Alas ! that such an en- 
terprise as the regeneration of England should turn on 5 
a hinge so imperfect ! Wedded to Rowena, indeed, her 
nobler and more generous soul may yet awake the better 
nature which is torpid within him. Yet how should this 
be, while Rowena, Athelstane, and I myself remain 
the prisoners of this brutal marauder, and have been 10 
made so perhaps from a sense of the dangers which 
our liberty might bring to the usurped power of his 
nation ? ” 

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful re- 
flections, the door of their prison opened and gave en- 15 
trance to a sewer, holding his white rod of office. This 
important person advanced into the chamber with a grave 
pace, followed by four attendants, bearing in a table 
covered with dishes, the sight and smell of which seemed 
to be an instant compensation to Athelstane for all the 20 
inconvenience he had undergone. The persons who at- 
tended on the feast were masked and cloaked. 

“ What mummery is this ? ” said Cedric ; “ think you 
that we are ignorant whose prisoners we are, when we 
are in the castle of your master? Tell him,” he continued, 25 
willing to use this opportunity to open a negotiation for 
his freedom — “tell your master, Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf, that we know no reason he can have for with- 
holding our liberty, excepting his unlawful desire to en- 
rich himself at our expense. Tell him that we yield to 30 
his rapacity, as in similar circumstances we should do 
to that of a literal robber. Let him name the ransom at 
which he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, pro- 
viding the exaction is suited to our means.” 

The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head. 35 

“And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said Athel- 
stane, “ that I send him my mortal defiance, and chal- 
lenge him to combat with me, on foot or horseback, at 
any secure place, within eight days after our liberation; 


Ivanhoe 


232 

which, if he be a true knight, he will not, under these 
circumstances, venture to refuse or to delay.” 

“ I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,” answered 
the sewer ; “ meanwhile I leave you to your food.” 

5 The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no good 
grace; for a large mouthful, which required the exercise 
of both jaws at once, added to a natural hesitation, con- 
siderably damped the effect of the bold defiance it con- 
tained. Still, however, his speech was hailed by Cedric 
10 as an incontestable token of reviving spirit in his com- 
panion, whose previous indifference had begun, notwith- 
standing his respect for Athelstane’s descent, to wear 
out his patience. But he now cordially shook hands with 
him in token of his approbation, and was somewhat 
15 grieved when Athelstane observed, “ That he would fight 
a dozen such men as Front-de-Boeuf, if by so doing he 
could hasten his departure from a dungeon where they 
put so much garlic into their pottage.” Notwithstanding 
• this intimation of a relapse into the apathy of sensuality, 
20 Cedric placed himself opposite to Athelstane, and soon 
showed that, if the distresses of his country could banish 
the recollection of food while the table was uncovered, 
yet no sooner were the victuals put there than he proved 
that the appetite of his Saxon ancestors had descended to 
25 him along with their other qualities. 

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, 
however, ere their attention was disturbed even from 
this most serious occupation by the blast of a horn winded 
before the gate. It was repeated three times, with as 
30 much violence as if it had been blown before an en- 
chanted castle by the destined knight at whose summons 
halls and towers, barbican and battlement, were to roll 
off like a morning vapor. The Saxons started from 
the table and hastened to the window. But their curi- 
35 osity was disappointed; for these outlets only looked upon 
the court of the castle, and the sound came from beyond 
its precincts. The summons, however, seemed of im- 
portance, for a considerable degree of bustle instantly 
took place in the castle. 


CHAPTER XXII 


My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 

. . . O my Christian ducats ! 

Justice — the Law — my ducats and my daughter! 

Merchant of Venice. 

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet as 
soon as their ungratified curiosity should permit them to 
attend to the calls of their half-satiated appetite, we have 
to look in upon the yet more severe imprisonment of 
Isaac of York. The poor Jew had been hastily thrust 
into a dungeon-vault of the castle, the floor of which 
was deep beneath the level of the ground, and very 
damp, being lower than even the moat itself. The only 
light was received through one or two loopholes far 
above the reach of the captive’s hand. These apertures 
admitted, even at mid-day, only a dim and uncertain light, 
which was changed for utter darkness long before the 
rest of the castle had lost the blessing of day. Chains 
and shackles, which had been the portion of former 
captives, from whom active exertions to escape had been 
apprehended, hung rusted and empty on the walls of 
the prison, and in the rings of one of those sets of fetters 
there remained two moldering bones, which seemed to 
have been once those of the human leg, as if some 
prisoner had been left not only to perish there, but to 
be consumed to a skeleton. 

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire- 
grate, over the top of which were stretched some trans- 
verse iron bars, half-devoured with rust. 

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have ap- 
palled a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who, neverthe- 
less, was more composed under the imminent pressure of 

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Ivanhoe 


234 

danger than he had seemed to be while affected by ter- 
rors of which the cause was as yet remote and contingent. 
The lovers of the chase say that the hare feels more 
agony during the pursuit of the greyhounds than when 
5 she is struggling in their fangs. And thus it is prob- 
able that the Jews, by the very frequency of their fear 
on all occasions, had their minds in some degree pre- 
pared for every effort of tyranny which could be prac- 
ticed upon them ; so that no aggression, when it had taken 
10 place, could bring with it that surprise which is the 
most disabling quality of terror. Neither was it the 
first time that Isaac had been placed in circumstances so 
dangerous. He had therefore experience to guide him, as 
well as hope that he might again, as formerly, be de- 
15 livered as a prey from the fowler. Above all, he had upon 
his side the unyielding obstinacy of his nation, and that 
unbending resolution with which Israelites have been 
frequently known to submit to the uttermost evils which 
power and violence can inflict upon them, rather than 
20 gratify their oppressors by granting their demands. 

In- this humor of passive resistance, and with his gar- 
ment collected beneath him to keep his limbs from the 
wet pavement, Isaac sat in a corner of his dungeon, 
where his folded hands, his disheveled hair and beard, 
25 his furred cloak and high cap, seen by the wiry and 
broken light, would have afforded a study for Rembrandt, 
had that celebrated painter existed at the period. The 
Jew remained without altering his position for nearly 
tl^ree hours, at the expiry of which steps were heard 
30*on the dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as they were 
withdrawn, the hinges creaked as the wicket opened, 
and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, followed by the two Sar- 
acen slaves of the Templar, entered the prison. 

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had 
35 been spent in public war or in private feuds and broils, 
and who had hesitated at no means of extending his 
feudal power, had features corresponding to his character, 
and which strongly expressed the fiercer and more malig- 
nant passions of the mind. The scars with which his 


Ivanhoe 


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visage was seamed would, on features of a different cast, 
have excited the sympathy and veneration due to the 
marks of honorable valor; but, in the peculiar case of 
Front-de-Bceuf, they only added to the ferocity of his 
countenance, and to the dread which his presence in- 5 
spired. This formidable baron was clad in a leathern 
doublet, fitted close to his body, which was frayed and 
soiled with the stains of his armor. He had no weapon, 
excepting a poniard at his belt, which served to counter- 
balance the weight of the bunch of rusty keys that hung 10 
at his right side. 

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were 
stripped of their gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins 
and trousers of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked 
up above the elbow, like those of butchers when about 15 
to exercise their function in the slaughter-house. Each 
had in his hand a small pannier; and, when they entered 
the dungeon, they stopped at the door until Front-de-Boeuf 
himself carefully locked and double-locked it. Having 
taken this precaution, he advanced slowly up the apart- 20 
ment towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed, 
as if he wished to paralyze him with his glance, as 
some animals are said to fascinate their prey. It seemed, 
indeed, as if the sullen and malignant eye of Front- 
de-Boeuf possessed some portion of that supposed power 25 
over his unfortunate prisoner. The Jew sat with his 
mouth agape, and his eyes fixed on the savage baron 
with such earnestness of terror that his frame seemed 
literally to shrink together, and to diminish in size while 
encountering the fierce Norman’s fixed and baleful gaze. 33 
The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only of the power 
of rising to make the obeisance which his terror dictated, 
but he could not even doff his cap, or utter any word 
of supplication; so strongly was he agitated by the con- 
viction that tortures and death were impending over 35 
him. 

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman 
appeared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, 
which ruffles up its plumage when about to pounce on 


Ivanhoe 


236 

its defenseless prey. He paused within three steps of 
the corner in which the unfortunate Jew had now, as it 
were, coiled himself up into the smallest possible space, 
and made a sign for one of the slaves to approach. 
5 The black satellite came forward accordingly, and, pro- 
ducing from his basket a large pair of scales and several 
weights, he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf, and 
again retired to the respectful distance at which his 
companion had already taken his station. 

1° The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as 
if there impended over their souls some preconception of 
horror and of cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf himself opened 
the scene by thus addressing his ill-fated captive. 

“ Most accursed dog of an accursed race,” he said, 
15 awaking with his deep and sullen voice the sullen echoes 
of his dungeon-vault, “ seest thou these scales ? ” 

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative. 

“ In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,” said 
the relentless Baron, “ a thousand silver pounds, after 
20 the just measure and weight of the Tower of London.” 

“ Holy Abraham ! ” returned the Jew, finding voice 
through the very extremity of his danger, “ heard man 
ever such a demand? Who ever heard, even in a min- 
strel’s tale, of such a sum as a thousand pounds of silver? 
25 What human sight was ever blessed with the vision of 
such a mass of treasure? Not within the walls of York, 
ransack my house and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find 
the tithe of that huge sum of silver that thou speakest of.” 

“I am reasonable,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “and 
30 if silver be scant, I refuse not -gold. At the rate of a 
mark of gold for each six pounds of silver, thou shalt 
free thy unbelieving carcass from such punishment as 
thy heart has never even conceived.” 

“Have mercy on me, noble knight V’ exclaimed Isaac; 
35 “ I am old, and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to 
truimph over me. It is a poor deed to crush a worm.” 

“ Old thou mayst be,” replied the knight ; “ more shame 
to their folly who have suffered thee to grow gray in 
usury and knavery. Feeble thou mayst be, for when 


Ivanhoe 


237 

had a Jew either heart or hand ? But rich it is well known 
thou art.” 

‘ I swear to you, noble knight,” said the Jew, “ by all 
which I believe, and by all which we believe in com- 
mon — ” 

“ Perjure not thyself,” said the Norman, interrupting 
him, “ and let not thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until 
thou hast seen and well considered the fate that awaits 
thee. Think not I speak to thee only to excite thy 
terror, and practice on the base cowardice thou hast 
derived from thy tribe. I swear to thee by that which 
thou dost not believe, by the Gospel which our church 
teaches, and by the keys which are given her to bind and 
to loose, that my purpose is deep and peremptory. This 
dungeon is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand 
times more distinguished than thou have died within 
these walls, and their fate hath never been known ! But 
for thee is reserved a long and lingering death, to which 
theirs were luxury.” 

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, 
and spoke to them apart, in their own language; for he 
also had been in Palestine, where, perhaps, he had learned 
his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens produced from their 
baskets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a 
flask of oil. While the one struck a light with a flint 
and steel, the other disposed the charcoal in the large 
rusty grate which we have already mentioned, and ex- 
ercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red glow. 

“ Seest thou, Isaac,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ the range 
of iron bars above that glowing charcoal ? On that warm 
couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if thou 
wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these slaves 
shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall 
anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should 
burn. Now, choose betwixt such a scorching bed and 
the payment of a thousand pounds of silver ; for, by the 
head of my father, thou hast no other option.” 

“It is impossible,” exclaimed the miserable Jew — “it 
is impossible that your purpose can be real ! The good 


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238 Ivanhoe 

God of nature never made a heart capable of exercising 
such cruelty ! ” 

“ Trust not to that, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ it 
were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who have 
5 seen a town sacked, in which thousands of my Christian 
countrymen perished by sword, by flood, and by fire, will 
blench from my purpose for the outcries or screams of 
one single wretched Jew? Or thinkest thou that these 
swarthy slaves, who have neither law, country, nor con- 
10 science, but their master’s will — who use the poison, or 
the stake, or the poniard, or the cord, at his slightest wink 
— thinkest thou that they will have mercy, who do not 
even understand the language in which it is asked ? Be 
wise, old man; discharge thyself of a portion of thy 
15 superfluous wealth ; repay to the hands of a Christian a 
part of what thou hast acquired by the usury thou hast 
practiced on those of his religion. Thy cunning may 
soon swell out once more thy shriveled purse, but neither 
leech nor medicine can restore thy scorched hide and 
20 flesh wert thou once stretched on these bars. Tell down 
thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thou 
canst redeem thee from a dungeon the secrets of which 
few have returned to tell. I waste no more words with 
thee : choose between thy dross and thy flesh and blood, 
25 and as thou choosest, so shall it be.” 

“ So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of our 
people assist me,” said Isaac, “ I cannot make the choice, 
because I have not the means of satisfying your exorbitant 
demand ! ” 

30 “ Seize him and strip him, slaves,” said the knight, 

“ and let the fathers of his race assist him if they can.” 

The assistants, taking their directions more from the 
Baron’s eye and his hand than his tongue, once more 
stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunate Isaac, 
35 plucked him up from the ground, and holding him be- 
tween them, waited the hard-hearted Baron’s farther 
signal. The unhappy Jew eyed their countenances and 
that of Front-de-Boeuf, in hope of discovering some 
symptoms of relenting; but that of the Baron exhibited 


Ivanhoe 


239 

the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile which had 
been the prelude to his cruelty; and the savage eyes of 
the Saracens rolling gloomily under their dark brows, 
acquiring a yet more sinister expression by the whiteness 
of the circle which surrounds the pupil, evinced rather 
the secret pleasure which they expected from the ap- 
proaching scene than any reluctance to be its directors 
or agents. The Jew then looked at the glowing furnace 
over which he was presently to be stretched, and seeing 
no chance of his tormentor’s relenting, his resolution 
gave way. 

“ I will pay,” he said, “ the thousand pounds of silver. 
That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “ I will pay 
it with the help of my brethren; for I must beg as a 
mendicant at the door of our synagogue ere I make up 
so unheard-of a sum. When and where must it be de- 
livered ? ” 

“Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf — “here it must be de- 
livered ; weighed it must be — weighed and told down on 
this very dungeon floor. Thinkest thou I will part with 
thee until thy ransom is secure ? ” 

“ And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew, “ that 
I shall be at liberty after this ransom is paid ? ” 

“ The word of a Norman noble, thou pawnbroking 
slave,” answered Front-de-Boeuf — “the faith of a Nor- 
man nobleman, more pure than the gold and silver of 
thee and all thy tribe.” 

“ I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac, timidly, “ but 
wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of one who 
will trust nothing to mine ? ” 

‘ Because thou canst not help it, Jew,” said the knight, 
sternly. “ Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamber at 
York, and were I craving a loan of thy shekels, it would 
be thine to dictate the time of payment and the pledge 
of security. This is my treasure-chamber. Here I have 
thee at advantage, nor will I again deign to repeat the 
terms on which I grant thee liberty.” 

The Jew groaned deeply. “ Grant me,” he said, “ at 
least, with my own liberty, that of the companions with 


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Ivanhoe 


240 

whom I travel. They scorned me as a Jew, yet they 
pitied my desolation, and because they tarried to aid me 
by the way a share of my evil hath come upon them; 
moreover, they may contribute in some sort to my 
5 ransom.” 

“If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,” said Front- 
de-Boeuf, “ their ransom will depend upon other terms 
than thine. Mind thine own concerns, Jew, I warn thee, 
and meddle not with those of others.” 

10 “ I am, then,” said Isaac, “ only to be set at liberty, to- 

gether with mine wounded friend ? ” 

“ Shall I twice recommend it,” said Front-de-Boeuf, 
“ to a son of Israel, to meddle with his own concerns, 
and leave those of others alone? Since thou hast made 
15 thy choice, it remains but that thou payest down thy 
ransom, and that at a short day.” 

“ Yet hear me,” said the Jew, “ for the sake of that 
very wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the expense of 
thy — ” here he stopped short, afraid of irritating the 
20 savage Norman. But Front-de-Boeuf only laughed, and 
himself filled up the blank at which the Jew had hesitated. 
“ At the expense of my conscience, thou wouldst say, 
Isaac; speak it out — I tell thee, I am reasonable. I 
can bear the reproaches of a loser, even when that loser 
25 is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, when thou 
didst invoke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, for 
calling thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactions 
had devoured his patrimony.” 

“ I swear by the Talmud,” said the Jew, “ that your 
30 valor has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel drew 
his poniard upon me in mine own chamber, because I 
craved him for mine own silver. The term of payment 
was due at the Passover.” 

“ I care not what he did,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ the 
35 question is, when shall I have mine own — when shall 
I have the shekels, Isaac ? ” 

“ I*et my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,” an- 
swered Isaac, “ with your safe-conduct, noble knight, 
and so soon as man and horse can return, the treasure — ” 


Ivanhoe 


241 

here he groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a 
few seconds — “ the treasure shall be told down on this 
very floor.” 

“ Thy daughter ! ” said Front-de-Bceuf, as if surprised, 
“ by heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this. I 
deemed that yonder black-browed girl had been thy con- 
cubine, and I gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, after the fashion of patriarchs and 
heroes of the days of old, who set us in these matters 
a whof'some example.” . 

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communi- 
cation made the very vault to ring, and astounded the 
two Saracens so much that they let go their hold of the 
Jew. He availed himself of his enlargement to throw 
himself on the pavement and clasp the knees of Front 
de-Boeuf. 

“Take all that you have asked,” said he, “ Sir Knight; 
take ten times more — reduce me to ruin and to beggary, 
if thou wilt, — nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me 
on that furnace; but spare my daughter, deliver her in 
safety and honor. As thou art born of woman, spare 
the honor of a helpless maiden. She is the image of 
my deceased Rachel — she is the last of six pledges of 
her love. Will you deprive a widowed husband of his 
sole remaining comfort? Will you reduce a father to 
wish that his only living child were laid beside her dead 
mother, in the tomb of our fathers ? ” 

“ I would,” said the Norman, somewhat relenting, 
“that I had known of this before. I thought your race 
had loved nothing save their money-bags.” 

“ Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,” said 
Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent sympathy ; 
“ the hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat loves its young — 
the despised and persecuted race of Abraham love their 
children ! ” 

“ Be it so,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “ I will believe it in 
future, Isaac, for thy very sake. But it aids us not now; 
I cannot help what has happened, or what is to follow: 
my word is passed to my comrades in arms, nor would 


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I break it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Besides, 
why shouldst thou think evil is to come to the girl, even 
if she became Bois-Guilbert’s booty ?” 

“ There will — there must ! ” exclaimed Isaac, wring- 
5 ing his hands in agony; “when did Templars breathe 
aught but cruelty to men and dishonor to women ! ” 

“ Dog of an infidel,” said Front-de-Bceuf, with sparkling 
eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext for work- 
ing himself into a passion, “ blaspheme not the Holy 
10 Order of the Temple of Zion, but take thought instead 
to pay me the ransom thou hast promised, or woe be- 
tide thy Jewish throat ! ” 

“ Robber and villain ! ” said the Jew, retorting the in- 
sults of his oppressor with passion, which, however im- 
15 potent, he now found it impossible to bridle, “ I will pay 
thee nothing — not one silver penny will I pay thee — 
unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety and 
honor ! ” 

“Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?” said the Norman, 
20 sternly ; “ has thy flesh and blood a charm against heated 
iron and scalding oil ? ” 

“I care not!” said the Jew, rendered desperate by 
paternal affection ; “ do thy worst. My daughter is my 
flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousand times than those 
25 limbs which thy cruelty threatens. No silver will I give 
thee, unless I were to pour it molten down thy avaricious 
throat; no, not a silver penny will I give thee, Nazarene, 
were it to save thee from the deep damnation thy whole 
life has merited! Take my life if thou wilt, and say the 
30 Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to disappoint the 
Christian.” 

“We shall see that,” said Front-de-Bceuf; “for by the 
blessed rood, which is the abomination of thy accursed 
tribe, thou shalt feel the extremities of fire and steel ! 
35 Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the bars.” 

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the 
Saracens had already torn from him his upper garment, 
and were proceeding totally to disrobe him, when the 
sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle, pene- 


Ivanhoe 


243 

trated even to the recesses of the dungeon, and immediately 
after loud voices were heard calling for Sir Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf. Unwilling to be found engaged in his 
hellish occupation, the savage Baron gave the slaves a 
signal to restore Isaac’s garment, and quitting the dun- 5 
geon with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank God 
for his own deliverance, or to lament over his daughter’s 
captivity and probable fate, as his personal or parental 
feelings might prove strongest. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving, words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 

I’ll woo you, like a soldier, at arms’ end, 

And love you ’gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been 
introduced was fitted up with some rude attempts at 
ornament and magnificence, and her being placed there 
might be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not 
5 offered to the other prisoners. But the wife of Front- 
de-Boeuf, for whom it had been originally furnished, was 
long dead, and decay and neglect had impaired the few 
ornaments with which her taste had adorned it. The 
tapestry hung down from the walls in many places, and 
10 in others was tarnished and faded under the effects of the 
sun, or tattered and decayed by age. Desolate, however, 
as it was, this was the apartment of the castle which 
had been judged most fitting for the accommodation of 
the Saxon heiress; and here she was left to meditate 
15 upon her fate, until the actors in this nefarious drama 
had arranged the several parts which each of them was 
to perform. This had been settled in a council held by 
Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, 
after a long and warm debate concerning the several 
20 advantages which each insisted upon deriving from his 
peculiar share in this audacious enterprise, they had at 
length determined the fate of their unhappy prisoners. 

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De 
Bracy, for whose advantage the expedition had been first 
25 planned, appeared to prosecute his views upon the hand 
and possessions of the Lady Rowena. 

244 


Ivanhoe 


2 45 

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding 
council with his confederates, for De Bracy had found 
leisure to decorate his person with all the foppery of the 
times. His green cassock and vizard were now flung 
aside. His long luxuriant hair was trained to flow in 
quaint tresses down his richly furred cloak. His beard 
was closely shaved, his doublet reached to the middle 
of his leg, and the girdle which secured it, and at the same 
time supported his ponderous sword, was embroidered and 
embossed with gold work. We have already noticed the 
extravagant fashion of the shoes at this period, and 
the points of Maurice de Bracy’s might have challenged the 
prize of extravagance with the gayest, being turned up 
and twisted like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress 
of a gallant of the period; and, in the present instance, 
that effect was aided by the handsome person and good 
demeanor of the wearer, whose manners partook alike of 
the grace of a courtier and the frankness of a soldier. 

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, gar- 
nished with a golden brooch, representing St. Michael 
trampling down the Prince of Evil. With this, he gently 
motioned the lady to a seat; and, as she still retained her 
standing posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, 
and motioned to conduct her thither. But Rowena de- 
clined, by her gesture, the proffered compliment, and 
replied, “ If I be in the presence of my jailer, Sir Knight 
— nor will circumstances allow me to think otherwise — 
it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing till she 
learns her doom. ,, 

“Alas! fair Rowena,” returned De Bracy, “you are 
in presence of your captive, not your jailer; and it is 
from your fair eyes that De Bracy must receive that doom 
which you fondly expect from him.” 

“I know you not, sir,” said the lady, drawing herself 
up with all the pride of offended rank and beauty — “ I 
know you not ; and the insolent familiarity with which you 
apply to me the jargon of a troubadour forms no apology 
for the violence of a robber.” 

“To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in his 


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Ivanhoe 


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former tone — “ to thine own charms be ascribed whate’er I 
have done which passed the respect due to her whom 
I have chosen queen of my heart and loadstar of my 
eyes.” 

5 “I repeat to you. Sir Knight, that I know you not, 
and that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to 
intrude himself upon the presence of an unprotected lady.” 

“ That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “ is in- 
deed my misfortune; yet let me hope that De Bracy’s 
10 name has not been always unspoken when minstrels or 
heralds have praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the 
lists or in the battlefield.” 

“ To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, 
Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “ more suiting for their 
15 mouths than for thine own; and tell me which of them 
shall record in song, or in book of tourney, the memorable 
conquest of this night, a conquest obtained over an old 
man, followed by a few timid hinds; and its booty, an 
unfortunate maiden transported against her will to the 
20 castle of a robber?” 

“ You are unjust, Lady Rowena,” said the knight, biting 
his lips in some confusion, and speaking in a tone more 
natural to him than that of affected gallantry which he 
had at first adopted ; “ yourself free from passion, you 
25 can allow no excuse for the frenzy of another, although 
caused by your own beauty.” 

“ I pray you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “ to cease 
a language so commonly used by strolling minstrels that 
it becomes not the mouth of knights or nobles. Certes, 
30 you constrain me to sit down, since you enter upon such 
commonplace terms, of which each vile crowder hath 
a stock that might last from hence to Christmas.” 

“ Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at finding his 
gallant style procured him nothing but contempt — “ proud 
35 damsel, thou shalt be as proudly encountered. Know, 
then, that I have supported my pretensions to your hand 
in the way that best suited thy character. It is meeter 
for thy humor to be wooed with bow and bill than in set 
terms and in courtly language.” 


Ivanhoe 


247 

“ Courtesy of tongue,” said Rowena, “ when it is used 
to veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle 
around the breast of a base ‘clown. I wonder not that 
the restraint appears to gall you: more it were for your 
honor to have retained the dress and language of an out- 
law than to veil the deeds of one under an affectation of 
gentle language and demeanor.” 

“ You counsel well, lady,” said the Norman ; “ and in 
the bold language which best justifies bold action, I tell 
thee, thou shalt never leave this castle, or thou shalt leave 
it as Maurice de Bracy’s wife. I am not wont to be 
baffled in my enterprises, nor needs a Norman noble 
scrupulously to vindicate his conduct to the Saxon maiden 
whom he distinguishes by the offer of his hand. Thou 
art proud, Rowena, and thou art the fitter to be my wife. 
By what other means couldst thou be raised to high 
honor and to princely place, saving by my alliance ? How 
else wouldst thou escape from the mean precincts of a 
country grange, where Saxons herd with the swine which 
form their wealth, to take thy seat, honored as thou 
shouldst be, and shalt be, amid all in England that is 
distinguished by beauty or dignified by power?” 

“ Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “ the grange which you 
contemn hath been my shelter from infancy; and, trust 
me, when I leave it — should that day ever arrive — it 
shall be with one who has not learned to despise the dwell- 
ing and manners in which I have been brought up.” 

“ I guess your meaning, lady,” said De Bracy, “ though 
you may think it lies too obscure for my apprehension. 
But dream not that Richard Coeur-de-Lion will ever re- 
sume his throne, far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his 
minion, will ever lead thee to his footstool, to be there 
welcomed as the bride of a favorite. Another suitor 
might feel jealousy while he touched this string; but my 
firm purpose cannot be changed by a passion so childish 
and so hopeless. Know, lady, that this rival is in my 
power, and that it rests but with ’me to betray the secret 
of his being within the castle to Front-de-Boeuf, whose 
jealousy will be more fatal than mine.” 


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“ Wilfred here ! ” said Rowena, in disdain ; “ that is as 
true as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.” 

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant. “ Wert 
thou really ignorant of this ? ” said he ; “ didst thou not 
5 know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe traveled in the litter of the 
Jew? — a meet conveyance for the crusader whose doughty 
arm was to reconquer the Holy Sepulcher ! ” And he 
laughed scornfully. 

“ And if he is here,” said Rowena, compelling herself 
10 to a tone of indifference, though trembling with an agony 
of apprehension which she could not suppress, “ in what 
is he the rival of Front-de-Boeuf ? or what has he to fear 
beyond a short imprisonment and an honorable ransom, 
according to the use of chivalry ? ” 

15 “ Rowena,” said De Bracy, “ art thou, too, deceived by 

the common error of thy sex, who think there can be 
no rivalry but that respecting their own charms ? 
Knowest thou not there is a jealousy of ambition and 
of wealth, as well as of love; and that this our host, 
20 Front-de-Boeuf, will push from his road him who opposes 
his claim to the fair barony of Ivanhoe as readily, eagerly, 
and unscrupulously as if he were preferred to him by 
some blue-eyed damsel? But smile on my suit, lady, 
and the wounded champion shall have nothing to fear 
25 from Front-de-Boeuf, whom else thou mayst mourn for, 
as in the hands of one who has never shown compas- 
sion.” 

“ Save him, for the love of Heaven ! ” said Rowena, 
her firmness giving way under terror for her lover’s 
30 impending fate. 

“I can — I will — it is my purpose,” said De Bracy; 
“ for, when Rowena consents to be the bride of De Bracy, 
who is it shall dare to put forth a violent hand upon her 
kinsman — the son of her guardian — the companion of 
35 her youth? But it is thy love must buy his protection. 
I am not romantic fool enough to further the fortune, 
or avert the fate, of one who is likely to be a successful 
obstacle between me and my wishes. Use thine influence 
with me in his behalf, and he is safe; refuse to employ 


Ivanhoe 


249 

it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyself art not the nearer to 
freedom.” 

“ Thy language,” answered Rowena, “ hath in its in- 
different bluntness something which cannot be reconciled 
with the horrors it seems to express. I believe not that 
thy purpose is so wicked, or thy power so great.” 

“ Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,” said De Bracy, 
“ until time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded 
in this castle — thy preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt 
Front-de-Bceuf and that which Front-de-Bceuf loves bet- 
ter than either ambition or beauty. What will it cost 
beyond the blow of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, 
to silence his opposition for ever? Nay, were Front-de- 
Boeuf afraid to justify a deed so open, let the leech but 
give his patient a wrong draught, let the chamberlain, or 
the nurse who tends him, but pluck the pillow from his 
head, and Wilfred, in his present condition, is sped with- 
out the effusion of blood. Cedric also — ” 

“And Cedric also,” said Rowena, repeating his words 
— “ my noble — my generous guardian ! I deserved the 
evil I have encountered, for forgetting his fate even in 
that of his son ! ” 

“ Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,” 
said De Bracy, “ and I leave thee to form it.” 

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part* in this trying 
scene, with undismayed courage, but it was because she 
had not considered the danger as serious and imminent. 
Her disposition was naturally that which physiognomists 
consider as proper to fair complexions — mild, timid, 
and gentle; but it had been tempered, and, as it were, 
hardened, by the circumstances of her education. Ac- 
customed to see the will of all, even of Cedric himself — 
sufficiently arbitrary with others — give way before her 
wishes, she had acquired that sort of courage and self- 
confidence which arises from the habitual and constant 
deference of the circle in which we move. She could 
scarce conceive the possibility of her will being opposed, 
far less that of its being treated with total disregard. 

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, there- 


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fore, a fictitious character, induced over that which was 
natural to her, and it deserted her when her eyes were 
opened to the extent of her own danger, as well as that 
of her lover and her guardian; and when she found her 
5 will, the slightest expression of which was wont to com- 
mand respect and attention, now placed in opposition to 
that of a man of a strong, fierce, and determined mind, 
who possessed the advantage over her, and was resolved 
to use it, she quailed before him. 

10 After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the 
aid which was nowhere to be found, and after a few 
broken interjections, she raised her hands to heaven, and 
burst into a passion of uncontrolled vexation and sorrow. 
It was impossible to see so beautiful a creature in such 
15 extremity without feeling for her, and De Bracy was not 
unmoved, though he was yet more embarrassed than 
touched. He had, in truth, gone too far to recede; and 
yet, in Rowena’s present condition, she could not be acted 
on either by argument or threats. He paced the apart- 
20 ment to and fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden 
to compose herself, now hesitating concerning his own 
line of conduct. 

“ If,” thought he, “ I should be moved by the tears and 
sorrow of this disconsolate damsel, what should I reap 
25 but the loss of those fair hopes for which I have en- 
countered so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince John 
and his jovial comrades? And yet,” he said to him- 
self, “ I feel myself ill framed for the part which I am 
playing. I cannot look on so fair a face while it is 
30 disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they are 
drowned in tears. I would she had retained her original 
haughtiness of disposition, or that I had a larger share 
of Front-de-Boeuf’s thrice-tempered hardness of heart!” 

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the un- 
35 fortunate Rowena be comforted, and assure her that as 
yet she had no reason for the excess of despair to which 
she was now giving way. But in this task of consolation 
De Bracy was interrupted by the horn, “ hoarse-winded 
blowing far and keen,” which had at the same time 


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alarmed the other inmates of the castle, and interrupted 
their several plans of avarice and of license. Of them 
all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted the interruption; 
for his conference with the Lady Rowena had arrived at 
a point where he found it equally difficult to prosecute 
or to resign his enterprise. 

And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer 
some better proof than the incidents of an idle tale to 
vindicate the melancholy representation of manners which 
has been just laid before the reader. It is grievous to 
think that those valiant barons, to whose stand against 
the crown the liberties of England were indebted for 
their existence, should themselves have been such dread- 
ful oppressors, and capable of excesses contrary not only 
to the laws of England, but to those of nature and hu- 
manity. But, alas ! we have only to extract from the 
industrious Henry one of those numerous passages which 
he has collected from contemporary historians, to prove 
that fiction itself can hardly reach the dark reality of 
the horrors of the period. 

The description given by the author of the Saxon 
Chronicle of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King 
Stephen by the great barons and lords of castles, who 
were all Normans, affords a strong proof of the excesses 
of which they were capable when their passions were in- 
flamed. “ They grievously oppressed the poor people by 
building castles; and when they were built, they filled 
them with wicked men, or rather devils, who seized both 
men and women who they imagined had any money, 
threw them into prison, and put them to more cruel tor- 
tures than the martyrs ever endured. They suffocated 
some in mud, and suspended others by the feet, or the 
head, or the thumbs, kindling fires below them. They 
squeezed the heads of some with knotted cords till they 
pierced their brains, while they threw others into dun- 
geons swarming with serpents, snakes, and toads.” But 
it would be cruel to put the reader to the pain of perusing 
the remainder of this description. 

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, 


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and perhaps the strongest that can be quoted, we may 
mention, that the Empress Matilda, though a daughter 
of the King of Scotland, and afterwards both Queen 
of England and Empress of Germany, the daughter, the 
5 wife, and the mother of monarchs, was obliged, during 
her early residence for education in England, to assume 
the veil of a nun, as the only means of escaping the 
licentious pursuit of the Norman nobles. This excuse 
she stated before a great council of the clergy of England, 
10 as the sole reason for her having taken the religious habit. 
The assembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, 
and the notoriety of the circumstances upon which it was 
founded; giving thus an indubitable and most remarkable 
testimony to the existence of that disgraceful license by 
15 which that age was stained. It was a matter of public 
knowledge, they said, that after the conquest of King 
William, his Norman followers, elated by so great a vic- 
tory, acknowledged no law but their own wicked pleas- 
ure, and not only despoiled the conquered Saxons of their 
20 lands and their goods, but invaded the honor of their 
wives and of their daughters with the most unbridled 
license; and hence it was then common for matrons and 
maidens of noble families to assume the veil, and take 
shelter in convents, not as called thither by the vocation 
25 of God, but solely to preserve their honor from the un- 
bridled wickedness of man. 

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced 
by the public declaration of the assembled clergy, re- 
corded by Eadmer; and we need add nothing more to 
30 vindicate the probability of the scenes which we have 
detailed, and are about to detail, upon the more apocryphal 
authority of the Wardour MS. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

I’ll woo her as the lion woos his bride. 

Douglas. 

While the scenes we have described were passing in 
other parts of the castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited 
her fate in a distant and sequestered turret. Hither she 
had been led by two of her disguised ravishers, and on 
being thrust into the little cell, she found herself in the 
presence of an old sibyl, who kept murmuring to her- 
self a Saxon rhyme, as if to beat time to the revolving 
dance which her spindle was performing upon the floor. 
The hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled 
at the fair Jewess with the malignant envy with which 
old age and ugliness, when united with evil conditions, 
are apt to look upon youth and beauty. 

“Thou must up and away, old house-cricket,” said 
one of the men ; “ our noble master commands it. Thou 
must e’en leave this chamber to a fairer guest.” 

“ Aye,” grumbled the hag, “ even thus is service re- 
quited. I have* known when my bare word would have 
cast the best man-at-arms among ye out of saddle and 
out of service; and now must I up and away at the 
command of every groom such as thou.” 

“ Good Dame Urfried,” said the other man, “ stand 
not to reason on it, but up and away. Lords’ hests must 
be listened to with a quick ear. Thou hast had thy day, 
old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now 
the very emblem of an old war-horse turned out on the 
barren heath; thou hast had thy paces in thy time, but 
now a broken amble is the best of them. Come, amble 
off with thee.” 

“ 111 omens dog ye both ! ” said the old woman ; “ and 
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a kennel be your burying-place ! May the evil demon 
Zernebock tear me limb from limb, if I leave my own 
cell ere I have spun out the hemp on my distaff ! ” 

“ Answer it to our lord, then, old house-fiend,” said 
5 the man, and retired, leaving Rebecca in company with 
the old woman, upon whose presence she had been thus 
unwillingly forced. 

“ What devil’s deed have they now in the wind ? ” said 
the old hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time to • 
10 time casting a sidelong and malignant glance at Rebecca; 

“ but it is easy to guess. Bright eyes, black locks, and 
a skin like paper, ere the priest stains it with his black 
unguent ! Aye, it is easy to guess why they send her 
to this lone turret, whence a shriek could no more be 
15 heard than at the depth of five hundred fathoms beneath 
the earth. Thou wilt have owls for thy neighbors, fair 
one; and their screams will be heard as far, and as much 
regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, too,” she said, mark- 
ing the dress and turban of Rebecca. “ What country 
20 art thou of ? — a Saracen or an Egyptian ? Why dost 
not answer ? Thou canst weep, canst thou not speak ? ” 

“ Be not angry, good mother,” said Rebecca. 

“Thou needst say no more,” replied Urfried; “men 
know a fox by the train, and a Jewess by her tongue.” 

25 “ For the sake of mercy,” said Rebecca, “ tell me what 

I am to expect as the conclusion of the violence which 
hath dragged me hither ! Is it my life' they seek, to 
atone for my religion? I will lay it down cheerfully.” 
“Thy life, minion!” answered the sibyl; “what would 
30 taking thy life pleasure them? Trust me, thy life is in 
no peril. Such usage shalt thou have as was once thought 
good enough for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall a 
Jewess like thee repine because she hath no better? Look 
at me. I was as young and twice as fair as thou, when 
35 Front-de-Bceuf, father of this Reginald, and his Normans, 
stormed this castle. My father and his seven sons de- 
fended their inheritance from story to story, from cham- 
ber to chamber. There was not a room, not a step of 
the stair, that was not slippery with their blood. They 


Ivanhoe 


255 

died — they died every man ; and ere their bodies were 
cold, and ere their blood was dried, I had become the 
prey and the scorn of the conqueror ! ” 

“ Is there no help ? Are there no means of escape ? ” 
said Rebecca. “ Richly — richly would I requite thine 
aid.” 

“Think not of it,” said the hag; “from hence there 
is no escape but through the gates of death; and it is 
late — late,” she added, shaking her gray head, “ ere 
these open to us. Yet it is comfort to think that we 
leave behind us on earth those who shall be wretched 
as ourselves. Fare thee well, Jewess ! Jew or Gentile, 
thy fate would be the same; for thou hast to do with 
them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well, 
I say. My thread is spun out; thy task is yet to begin.” 

“ Stay ! stay ! for Heaven’s sake ! ” said Rebecca — 
“ stay, though it be to curse and to revile me ; thy pres- 
ence is yet some protection.” 

“ The presence of the mother of God were no pro- 
tection,” answered the old woman. “ There she stands,” 
pointing to a rude image of the Virgin Mary, “ see if she 
can avert the fate that awaits thee.” 

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed 
into a sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem even 
more hideous than their habitual frown. She locked the 
door behind her, and Rebecca might hear her curse every 
step for its steepness, as slowly and with difficulty she 
descended the turret stair. 

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful 
than that of Rowena; for what probability was there that 
either softness or ceremony would be used towards one 
of her oppressed race, whatever shadow of these might 
be preserved towards a Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jew- 
ess this advantage, that she was better prepared by habits 
of thought, and by natural strength of mind, to encounter 
the dangers to which she was exposed. Of a strong 
and observing character, even from her earliest years, the 
pomp and wealth which her father displayed within his 
walls, or which she witnessed in the houses of other 


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wealthy Hebrews, had not been able to blind her to the 
precarious circumstances under which they were enjoyed. 
Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Rebecca per- 
petually beheld, amid that gorgeous display, the sword 
5 which was suspended over the heads of her people by 
a single hair. These reflections had tamed and brought 
down to a pitch of sounder judgment a temper which, 
under other circumstances, might have waxed haughty, 
supercilious, and obstinate. 

10 From her father’s example and injunctions, Rebecca 
had learned to bear herself courteously towards all who 
approached her. She could not indeed imitate his excess 
of subservience, because she was a stranger to the mean- 
ness of mind and to the constant state of timid appre- 
15 hension by which it was dictated; but she bore herself 
with a proud humility, as if submitting to the evil cir- 
cumstances in which she was placed as the daughter of 
a despised race, while she felt in her mind the conscious- 
ness that she was entitled to hold a higher rank from her 
20 merit than the arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice 
permitted her to aspire to. 

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she 
had acquired the firmness necessary for acting under 
them. Her present situation required all her presence 
25 of mind, and she summoned it up accordingly. 

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it af- 
forded few hopes either of escape or protection. It con- 
tained neither secret passage nor trap-door, and, unless 
where the door by which she had entered joined the 
30 main building, seemed to be circumscribed by the round 
exterior wall of the turret. The door had no inside bolt 
or bar. The single window opened upon an embattled 
space surmounting the turret, which gave Rebecca, at 
first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she soon found it 
35 had no communication with any other part of the battle- 
ments, being an isolated bartizan, or balcony, secured, as 
usual, by a parapet, with embrasures, at which a few 
archers might be stationed for defending the turret, and 


Ivanhoe 


257 

flanking with their shot the wall of the castle on that 
side. 

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, 
and in that strong reliance on Heaven natural to great 
and generous characters. Rebecca, however erroneously 
taught to interpret the promises of Scripture to the chosen 
people of Heaven, did not err in supposing the present 
to be their hour of trial, or in trusting that the children 
of Zion would be one day called in with the fullness of 
the Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all around her showed 
that their present state was that of punishment and pro- 
bation, and that it was their especial duty to suffer without 
sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the victim 
of misfortune, Rebecca had early reflected upon her own 
state, and schooled her mind to meet the dangers which 
she had probably to encounter. 

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed color, 
when a step was heard on the stair, and the door of the 
turret-chamber slowly opened, and a tall man, dressed as 
one of those banditti to whom they owed their misfortune, 
slowly entered, and shut the door behind him ; his cap, 
pulled down upon his brows, concealed the upper part of 
his face, and he held ’his mantle in such a manner as to 
muffle the rest. In this guise, as if prepared for the ex- 
ecution of some deed, at the thought of which he was 
himself ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner; 
yet, ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss 
to express what purpose had brought him thither, so that 
Rebecca, making an effort upon herself, had time to an- 
ticipate his explanation. She had already unclasped two 
costly bracelets and a collar, which she hastened to 
proffer to the supposed outlaw, concluding naturally that 
to gratify his avarice was to bespeak his favor. 

“ Take these,” she said, “ good friend, and for God’s 
sake be merciful to me and my aged father ! These 
ornaments are of value, yet are they trifling to what he 
would bestow to obtain our dismissal from this castle free 
and uninjured.” 


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“ Fair flower of Palestine/’ replied the outlaw, “ these 
pearls are orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth ; 
the diamonds are brilliant, but they cannot match your 
eyes; and ever since I have taken up this wild trade, I 
5 have made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth.” 

“ Do not do yourself such wrong,” said Rebecca ; “ take 
ransom, and have mercy ! Gold will purchase you pleas- 
ure; to misuse us could only bring thee remorse. My 
father will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and if 
10 thou wilt act wisely, thou mayst purchase with our spoils 
thy restoration to civil society — mayst obtain pardon for 
past errors, and be placed beyond the necessity of com- 
mitting more.” 

“ It is well spoken,” replied the outlaw in French, find- 
15 ing it difficult probably to sustain in Saxon a conversa- 
tion which Rebecca had opened in that language ; “ but 
know, bright lily of the vale of Baca ! that thy father 
is already in the hands of a powerful alchemist, who 
knows how to convert into gold and silver even the rusty 
20 bars of a dungeon grate. The venerable Isaac is sub- 
jected to an alembic which will distill from him all he 
holds dear, without any assistance from my requests or 
thy entreaty. Thy ransom must 'be paid by love and 
beauty, and in no other coin will I accept it.” 

25 “ Thou art no outlaw,” said Rebecca, in the same 

language in which he addressed her ; “ no outlaw had 
refused such offers. No outlaw in this land uses the 
dialect in which thou hast spoken. Thou art no outlaw, 
but a Norman — a Norman, noble perhaps in birth. O, 
30 be so in thy actions, and cast off this fearful mask of 
outrage and violence ! ” 

“ And thou, who canst guess so truly,” said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, dropping the mantle from his face, “ art 
no true daughter of Israel, but in all save youth and 
35 beauty a very witch of Endor. I am not an outlaw then, 
fair rose of Sharon. And I am one who will be more 
prompt to hang thy neck and arms with pearls and dia- 
monds, which so well become them, than to deprive thee 
of these ornaments.” 


Ivanhoe 


259 

“ What wouldst thou have of me,” said Rebecca, “ if 
not my wealth? We can have nought in common between 
us; you are a Christian, I am a Jewess. Our union were 
contrary to the laws alike of the church and the syna- 
gogue.” 

“ It were so, indeed,” replied the Templar, laughing. 
“Wed with a Jewess! Despardieux ! Not if she were 
the Queen of Sheba ! And know, besides, sweet daugh- 
ter of Zion, that were the most Christian king to 
offer me his most Christian daughter, with Languedoc 
for a dowry, I could not wed her. It is against my vow 
to love any maiden, otherwise than par amours , as I will 
love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the cross of my 
holy order.” 

“ Darest thou appeal to it,” said Rebecca, “ on an oc- 
casion like the present?” 

“ And if I do so,” said the Templar, “ it concerns not 
thee, who art no believer in the blessed sign of our sal- 
vation.” 

. “ I believe as my fathers taught,” said Rebecca ; “ and 
may God forgive my belief if erroneous ! But you, Sir 
Knight, what is yours, when you appeal without scruple 
to that which you deem most holy, even while you are 
about to transgress the most solemn of your vows as a 
knight and as a man of religion ? ” 

“ It is- gravely and well preached, O daughter of 
Sirach ! ” answered the Templar; “but, gentle Ecclesi- 
astica, thy narrow Jewish prejudices make thee blind to 
our high privilege. Marriage were an enduring crime on 
the part of a Templar; but what lesser folly I may prac- 
tice, I shall speedily be absolved from at the next pre- 
ceptory of our order. Not the wisest of monarchs, not 
his father, whose examples you must needs allow are 
weighty, claimed wider privileges than we poor soldiers 
of the Temple of Zion have won by our zeal in its de- 
fense. The protectors of Solomon’s temple may claim 
license by the example of Solomon.” 

“ If thou readest the Scripture,” said the Jewess, “ and 
the lives of the saints, only to justify thine own license 


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and profligacy, thy crime is like that of him who extracts 
poison from the most healthful and necessary herbs.” 

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof. 
“ Hearken,” he said, “ Rebecca ; I have hitherto spoken 
5 mildly to thee, but now my language shall be that of a 
conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow and spear, 
subject to my will by the laws of all nations; nor will I 
abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by 
violence what thou refusest to entreaty or necessity.” 

10 “ Stand back,” said Rebecca — “ stand back, and hear 

me ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly ! My 
strength thou mayst indeed overpower, for God made 
women weak, and trusted their defense to man’s gener- 
osity. But I will proclaim thy villainy, Templar, from 
15 one end of Europe to the other. I will owe to the super- 
stition of thy brethren what their compassion might re- 
fuse me. Each preceptory — each chapter of thy order, 
shall learn that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned with a 
Jewess. Those who tremble not at thy crime will hold 
20 thee accursed for having so far dishonored the cross 
thou wearest as to follow a daughter of my people.” 

“ Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Templar, 
well aware of the truth of what she spoke, and that the 
rules of his order condemned in the most positive manner, 
25 and under high penalties, such intrigues as he now pros- 
ecuted, and that in some instances even degradation had 
followed upon it — “ thou art sharp-witted,” he said ; “ but 
loud must be thy voice of complaint if it is heard beyond 
the iron walls of this castle; within these, murmurs, la- 
30 ments, appeals to justice, and screams for help die alike si- 
lent away. One thing only can save thee, Rebecca. Submit 
to thy fate, embrace our religion, and thou shalt go forth 
in such state that many a Norman lady shall yield as well 
in pomp as in beauty to the favorite of the best lance 
35 among the defenders of the Temple.” 

“ Submit to my fate ! ” said Rebecca ; “ and, sacred 
Heaven! to what fate? Embrace thy religion! and what 
religion can it be that harbors such a villain? Thou the 
best lance of the Templars ! Craven knight ! — forsworn 


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261 


priest! I spit at thee, and I defy thee. The God of 
Abraham’s promise hath opened an escape to his daugh- 
ter — even from this abyss of infamy ! ” 

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which 
led to the bartizan, and in an instant after stood on the 
very verge of the parapet, with not the slightest screen 
between her and the tremendous depth below. Unprepared 
for such a desperate effort, for she had hitherto stood 
perfectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither time to 
intercept nor to stop her. As he offered to advance, she 
exclaimed, “ Remain where thou art, proud Templar, or 
at thy choice advance ! — one foot nearer, and I plunge 
myself from the precipice; my body shall be crushed out 
of the very form of humanity upon the stones of that 
courtyard ere it become the victim of thy brutality ! ” 

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended 
them towards heaven, as if imploring mercy on her 
soul before she made the final plunge. The Templar 
hesitated, and a resolution which had never yielded to 
pity or distress gave way to his admiration of her for- 
titude. “ Come down,” he said, “ rash girl ! I swear 
by earth, and sea, and sky, I will offer thee no offense.” 

“ I will not trust thee, Templar,” said Rebecca ; “ thou 
hast taught me better how to estimate the virtues of 
thine order. The next preceptory would grant thee ab- 
solution for an oath the keeping of which concerned 
naught but the honor or the dishonor of a miserable 
Jewish maiden.” 

“ You do me injustice,” exclaimed the Templar, fer- 
vently ; “ I swear to you by the name which I bear — 
by the cross on my bosom — by the sword on my side 
— by the ancient crest of my fathers do I swear, I will 
do thee no injury whatsoever! If not for thyself, yet 
for thy father’s sake forbear ! I will be his friend, and 
in this castle he will need a powerful one.” 

“ Alas ! ” said Rebecca, “ I know it but too well. Dare 
I trust thee ? ” 

“ May my arms be reversed and my name dishonored,” 
said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ if thou shalt have reason 


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to complain of me! Many a law, many a commandment 
have I broken, but my word never.” 

“ I will then trust thee,” said Rebecca, “ thus far ” ; 
and she descended from the verge of the battlement, but 
5 remained standing close by one of the embrasures, or 
machicolles, as they were then called. “ Here,” she said, 
“ I take my stand. Remain where thou art, and if thou 
shalt attempt to diminish by one step the distance now 
between us, thou shalt see that the Jewish maiden will 
10 rather trust her soul with God than her honor to the 
Templar ! ” 

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, 
which corresponded so well with the expressive beauty 
of her countenance, gave to her looks, air, and manner 
15 a dignity that seemed more than mortal. Her glance 
quailed not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a 
fate so instant and so horrible; on the contrary, the 
thought that she had her fate at her command, and could 
escape at will from infamy to death, gave a yet deeper 
20 color of carnation to her complexion, and a yet more 
brilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himself 
and high-spirited, thought he had never beheld beauty 
so animated and so commanding. 

“ Let there be peace between us, Rebecca,” he said. 

25 “ Peace, if thou wilt,” answered Rebecca — “ peace ; 

but with this space between.” 

“ Thou needst no longer fear me,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ I fear thee not,” replied she, “ thanks to him that 
reared this dizzy tower so high that naught could fall 
30 from it and live. Thanks to him, and to the God of 
Israel! I fear thee not.” 

“ Thou dost me injustice,” said the Templar; “ by earth, 
sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally 
that which you have seen me — hard, selfish, and relent- 
35 less. It was woman that taught me cruelty, and on 
woman therefore I have exercised it; but not upon such 
as thou. Hear me, Rebecca. Never did knight take 
lance in his hand with a heart more devoted to the lady 
of his love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the 


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263 

daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for all his do- 
mains but a ruinous tower and an unproductive vine- 
yard, and some few leagues of the barren Landes of 
Bourdeaux, her name was known wherever deeds of arms 
were done, known wider than that of many a lady’s that 
had a county for a dowry. Yes,” he continued, pacing 
up and down the little platform, with an animation in 
which he seemed to lose all consciousness of Rebecca’s 
presence — “ yes, my deeds, my danger, my blood made 
the name of Adelaide de Montemare known from the 
court of Castile to that of Byzantium. And how was I 
requited? When I returned with my dear-bought honors, 
purchased by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a 
Gascon squire, whose name was never heard beyond the 
limits of his own paltry domain ! Truly did I love her, 
and bitterly did I revenge me of her broken faith ! But 
my vengeance has recoiled on myself. Since that day 
I have separated myself from life and its ties. My man- 
hood must know no domestic home, must be soothed by 
no affectionate wife. My age must know no kindly 
hearth. My grave must be solitary, and no offspring 
must outlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois-Guil- 
bert. At the feet of my superior I have laid down the 
right of self-action — the privilege of independence. The 
Templar, a serf in all but the name, can possess neither 
lands nor goods, and lives, moves, and breathes but at 
the will and pleasure of another.” 

“ Alas ! ” said Rebecca, “ what advantage could com- 
pensate for such an absolute sacrifice ? ” 

“ The power of vengeance, Rebecca,” replied the Tem- 
plar, “ and the prospects of ambition.” 

“ An evil recompense,” said Rebecca, “ for the surrender 
of the rights which are dearest to humanity.” 

“ Say not so, maiden,” answered the Templar ; “ revenge 
is a feast for the gods! And if they have reserved it, 
as priests tell us, to themselves, it is because they hold 
it an enjoyment too precious for the possession of mere 
mortals. And ambition! it is a temptation which could 
disturb even the bliss of Heaven itself.” He paused a 


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moment, and then added, “ Rebecca ! she who could prefer 
death to dishonor must have a proud and a powerful soul. 
Mine thou must be ! Nay, start not,” he added, “ it 
must be with thine own consent, and on thine own terms. 
5 Thou must consent to share with me hopes more ex- 
tended than can be viewed from the throne of a monarch ! 
Hear me ere you answer, and judge ere you refuse. The 
Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his 
power of free agency, but he becomes a member and a 
10 limb of a mighty body, before which thrones already 
tremble — even as the single drop of rain which mixes 
with the sea becomes an individual part of that resist- 
less ocean which undermines rocks and ingulfs royal 
armadas. Such a swelling flood is that powerful league. 
15 Of this mighty order I am no mean member, but already 
one of the chief commanders, and may well aspire one 
day to hold the baton of Grand Master. The poor 
soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot 
upon the necks of kings; a hemp-sandal’d monk can do 
20 that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne, our 
gauntlet shall wrench the scepter from their gripe. Not 
the reign of your vainly-expected Messiah offers such 
power to your dispersed tribes as my ambition may aim 
at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and 
25 I have found such in thee.” 

“ Sayest thou this to one of my people ? ” answered 
Rebecca. “ Bethink thee — ” 

“Answer me not,” said the Templar, “by urging the 
difference of our creeds; within our secret conclaves we 
30 hold these nursery tales in derision. Think not we long 
remained blind to the idiotical folly of our founders, who 
forswore every delight of life for the pleasure of dying 
martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by 
the swords of savages, while they vainly strove to defend 
35 a barren desert, valuable only in the eyes of superstition. 
Our order soon adopted bolder and wider views, and 
found out a better indemnification for our sacrifices. Our 
immense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our 
high military fame, which brings within our circle the 


Ivanhoe 


265 

flower of chivalry from every Christian clime — these 
are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders little 
dreamed and which are equally concealed from such weak 
spirits as embrace our order on the ancient principles, 
and whose superstition makes them our passive tools. 
But I will not further withdraw the veil of our mysteries. 
That bugle-sound announces something which may re- 
quire my presence. Think on what I have said. Fare- 
well ! I do not say forgive me the violence I have 
threatened, for it was necessary to the display of thy 
character. Gold can be only known by the application 
of the touchstone. I will soon return, and hold further 
conference with thee.” 

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the 
stair, leaving Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the pros- 
pect of the death to which she had been so lately ex- 
posed, than at the furious ambition of the bold bad man in 
whose power she found herself so unhappily placed. 
When she entered the turret-chamber, her first duty was 
to return thanks to the God of Jacob for the protection 
which He had afforded her, and to implore its continuance 
for her and for her father. Another name glided into her 
petition; it was that of the wounded Christian, whom 
fate had placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his 
avowed enemies. Her heart indeed checked her, as if, 
even in communing with the Deity in prayer, she mingled 
in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate 
hers could have no alliance — a Nazarene, and an enemy 
to her faith. But the petition was already breathed, nor 
could all the narrow prejudices of her sect induce Re- 
becca to wish it recalled. 


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CHAPTER XXV 


A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life! 

She Stoops to Conquer. 

When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he 
found De Bracy already there. “ Your love-suit,” said 
De Bracy, “ hath, I suppose, been disturbed, like mine, by 
this obstreperous summons. But you have come later and 
5 more reluctantly, and therefore I presume your interview 
has proved more agreeable than mine.” 

“ Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the 
Saxon heiress?” said the Templar. 

“ By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered De 
10 Bracy, “ the Lady Rowena must have heard that I can- 
not endure the sight of women’s tears.” 

“Away!” said the Templar; “thou a leader of a Free 
Company, and regard a woman’s tears ! A few drops 
sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame blaze the 
15 brighter.” 

“ Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” re- 
plied De Bracy ; “ but this damsel hath wept enough to 
extinguish a beacon-light. Never was such wringing of 
hands and such overflowing of eyes, since the days of St. 
20 Niobe, of whom Prior Aymer told us. A water-fiend 
hath possessed the fair Saxon.” 

“ A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the 
Jewess,” replied the Templar; “ for I think no single one, 
not even Apollyon himself, could have inspired such in- 
25 domitable pride and resolution. But where is Front-de- 
Boeuf? That horn is sounded more and more clamor- 
ously.” 

“ He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied 
De Bracy, coolly ; “ probably the howls of Isaac have 
266 


Ivanhoe 267 

drowned the blast of the bugle. Thou mayst know, by 
experience. Sir Brian, that a Jew parting with his treas- 
ures on such terms as our friend Front-de-Boeuf is like to 
offer will raise a clamor loud enough to be heard over 
twenty horns and trumpets to boot. But we will make 5 
the vassals call him.” 

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who 
had been disturbed in his tyrannic cruelty in the manner 
with which the reader is acquainted, and had only tarried 
to give some necessary directions. 10 

“ Let us see the cause of this cursed clamor,” said 
Front-de-Boeuf; “here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, 
it is in Saxon.” 

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he 
had had really some hopes of coming at the meaning by 15 
inverting the position of the paper, and then handed it to 
De Bracy. 

“ It may be magic spells for aught I know,” said De 
Bracy, who possessed his full proportion of the ignorance 
which characterized the chivalry of the period. “ Our 20 
chaplain attempted to teach me to write,” he said, “ but 
all my letters were formed like spear-heads and sword- 
blades, and so the old shaveling gave up the task.” 

“ Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that of the 
priestly character, that we have some knowledge to en- 25 
lighten our valor.” 

“ Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,” 
said De Bracy; “what says the scroll?” 

“ It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the Tem- 
plar ; “ but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a fool- 30 
ish jest, it is the most extraordinary cartel that ever was 
sent across the drawbridge of a baronial castle.” 

“ Jest ! ” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ I would gladly know 
who dares jest with me in such a matter ! Read it, Sir 
Brian.” 35 

The Templar accordingly read it as follows: — 

“I, Wamba, the son of Witless, jester to a noble and 
freeborn man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon: 
and I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd—” 


268 .Ivanhoe 

“Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the 
reader. 

“ By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Tem- 
plar. Then resuming his task, he went on — “ I, Gurth, 
5 the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, 
with the assistance of our allies and confederates, who 
make common cause with us in this our feud, namely, 
the good knight, called for the present Le Noir Faineant, 
and the stout yeoman, Robert Locksley, called Cleave- 
10 the-Wand, do you, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and your 
allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas 
you have, without cause given or feud declared, wrong- 
fully and by mastery seized upon the person of our lord 
and master the said Cedric; also upon the person of a 
15 noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady Rowena of Har- 
gottstandstede ; also upon the person of a noble and free- 
born man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; also upon the 
persons of certain freeborn men, their cnichts; aHo upon 
certain serfs, their born bondsmen; also upon a certain 
20 Jew, named Isaac of York, together with his daughter, 
a Jewess, and certain horses and mules: which noble per- 
sons, with their cnichts and slaves, and also with the 
horses and mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were all in 
peace with his Majesty, and traveling as liege subjects 
25 upon the king’s highway; therefore we require and de- 
mand that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of Roth- 
erwood, Rowena of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Con- 
ingsburgh, with their servants, cnichts, and followers, 
also the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, to- 
30 gether with all goods and chattels to them pertaining, 
be, within an hour after the delivery hereof, delivered to 
us, or to those whom we shall appoint to receive the same, 
and that untouched and unharmed in body and goods. 
Failing of which, we do pronounce to you, that we hold 
35 ye as robbers and traitors, and will wager our bodies 
against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our ut- 
most to your annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may 
God have you in His keeping. Signed by us upon the eve 
of St. Withold’s day, under the great trysting oak in the 


Ivanhoe 


269 

Harthill Walk, the above being written by a holy man, 
clerk to God, our Lady, and St. Dunstan, in the chapel of 
Copmanhurst.” 

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the 
first place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with 
a legend expressing this hieroglyphic to be the sign- 
manual of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this respecta- 
ble emblem stood a cross, stated to be the mark of Gurth, 
the son of Beowulph. Then was written, in rough bold 
characters, the words Le Noir Faineant. And, to con- 
clude the whole, an arrow, neatly enough drawn, was de- 
scribed as the mark of the yeoman Locksley. 

The knights heard this uncommon document read from 
end to end, and then gazed upon each other in silent 
amazement, as being utterly at a loss to know what it 
could portend. De Bracy was the first to break silence by 
an uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, 
though with more moderation, by the Templar. Front- 
de-Boeuf, on the contrary, seemed impatient of their ill- 
timed jocularity. 

“ I give you plain warning,” he said, “ fair sirs, that 
you had better consult how to bear yourselves under 
these circumstances, than give way to such misplaced 
merriment.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his 
late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; “he is 
cowed at the very idea of a cartel, though it come but 
from a fool and a swineherd.” 

“ By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ I would 
thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thy- 
self, De Bracy. These fellows dared not have acted with 
such inconceivable impudence, had they not been sup- 
ported by some strong bands. There are enough of out- 
laws in this forest to resent my protecting the deer. I 
did but tie one fellow, who was taken red-handed and 
in the fact, to the horns of a wild stag, which gored him 
to death in five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot 
at me as there were launched against yonder target at 
Ashby. Here, fellow,” he added, to one of his attendants. 


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“ hast thou sent out to see by what force this precious 
challenge is to be supported ? ” 

“ There are at least two hundred men assembled in the 
woods,” answered a squire who was in attendance. 

5 “ Here is a proper matter! ” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “this 

comes of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot 
manage your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this 
nest of hornets about my ears ! ” 

“ Of hornets ! ” said De Bracy, “ of stingless drones 
10 rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood 
and destroy the venison rather than labor for their main- 
tenance.” 

“Stingless!” replied Front-de-Boeuf; “fork-headed 
shafts of a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the 
15 breadth of a French crown, are sting enough.” 

“ For shame, Sir Knight ! ” said the Templar. “ Let us 
summon our people and sally forth upon them. One 
knight — aye, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty 
such peasants.” 

20 “ Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy ; “ I should 

only be ashamed to couch lance against them.” 

“True,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “were they black 
Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of 
France, most valiant De Bracy; but these are English 
25 yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage, save 
what we may derive from our arms and horses, which will 
avail us little in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst 
thou? We have scarce men enough to defend the castle. 
The best of mine are at York; so is all your band, De 
30 Bracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides the hand- 
ful that were engaged in this mad business.” 

“Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “that they 
can assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle ? ” 

“ Not so, Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Boeuf. “ These 
35 outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but without ma- 
chines, scaling ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle 
may defy them.” 

“ Send to thy neighbors,” said the Templar; “let them 
assemble their people and come to the rescue of three 


Ivanhoe 


271 

knights, besieged by a jester and a swineherd in the 
baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf ! ” 

“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to 
whom should I send? Malvoisin is by this time at York 
with his retainers, and so are my other allies; and so 
should I have been, but for this infernal enterprise.” 

“ Then send to York and recall our people,” said De 
Bracy. “ If they abide the shaking of my standard, or 
the sight of my Free Companions, I will give them credit 
for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in greenwood.” 

“And who shall bear such a message?” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ they will beset every path, and rip the errand 
out of his bosom. I have it,” he added, after pausing 
for a moment. “ Sir Templar, thou canst write as well 
as read, and if we can but find the writing materials of 
my chaplain, who died a twelvemonth since in the midst 
of his Christmas carousals — ” 

“ So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in at- 
tendance, “ I think old Urfried has them somewhere in 
keeping, for love of the confessor. He was the last man, 
I have heard her tell, who ever said aught to her which 
man ought in courtesy to address to maid or matron.” 

“Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; 
“ and then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to 
this bold challenge.” 

“ I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that 
of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert ; “ but be it as you will.” 

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French 
language, an epistle of the following tenor: — 

“ Sir Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, with his noble and 
knightly allies and confederates, receive no defiances at 
the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the per- 
son calling himself the Black Knight have indeed a claim 
to the honors of .chivalry, he ought to know that he 
stands degraded by his present association, and has no 
right to ask reckoning at the hands of good men of noble 
blood. Touching the prisoners we have made, we do in 
Christian charity require you to send a man of religion 
to receive their confession and reconcile them with God; 


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Ivanhoe 


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since it is our fixed intention to execute them this morn- 
ing before noon, so that their heads, being placed on the 
battlements, shall show to all men how lightly we esteem 
those who have bestirred themselves in their rescue. 
5 Wherefore, as above, we require you to send a priest to 
reconcile them to God, in doing which you shall render 
them the last earthly service.” 

This letter, being folded, was delivered to the squire, 
and by him to the messenger who waited without, as the 
10 answer to that which he had brought. 

The yeoman, having thus accomplished his mission, re- 
turned to the headquarters of the allies, which were for 
the present established under a venerable oak-tree, about 
three arrow-flights distant from the castle. Here Wamba 
15 and Gurth, with their allies the Black Knight and Locks- 
ley, and the jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an 
answer to their summons. Around, and at a distance 
from them, were seen many a bold yeoman, whose silvan 
dress and weather-beaten countenances showed the or- 
20 dinary nature of their occupation. More than two hun- 
dred had already assembled, and others were fast coming 
in. Those whom they obeyed as leaders were only dis- 
tinguished from the others by a feather in the cap, their 
dress, arms, and equipments being in all other respects the 
25 same. 

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse-armed 
force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the neigh- 
boring township, as well as many bondsmen and servants 
from Cedric’s extensive estate, had already arrived, for 
30 the purpose of assisting in his rescue. Few of these were 
armed otherwise than with such rustic weapons as neces- 
sity sometimes converts to military purposes. Boar-spears, 
scythes, flails, and the like, were their chief arms; for 
the Normans, with the usual policy of conquerors, were 
35 jealous of permitting to the vanquished Saxons the pos- 
session or the use of swords and spears. These circum- 
stances rendered the assistance of the Saxons far from 
being so formidable to the besieged as the strength of 
the men themselves, their superior numbers, and the ani- 


Ivanhoe 


273 

mation inspired by a just cause, might otherwise well 
have made them. It was to the leaders of this motley 
army that the letter of the Templar was now delivered. 

Reference was at first made to the chaplain for an ex- 
position of its contents. 

“ By the crook of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy ec- 
clesiastic, “ which hath brought more sheep within the 
sheepfold than the crook of e’er another saint in Para- 
dise, I swear that I cannot expound unto you this jargon, 
which, whether it be French or Arabic, is beyond my 
guess.” 

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head 
gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at 
each o£ the four corners of the paper with such a grin of 
affected intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume upon 
similar occasions, then cut a caper, and gave the letter to 
Locksley. 

“ If the long letters were bows, and the short letters 
broad arrows, I might know something of the matter,” 
said the brave yeoman ; “ but as the matter stands, the 
meaning is as safe, for me, as the stag that’s at twelve 
miles’ distance.” 

“ I must be clerk, then,” said the Black Knight ; and 
taking the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to 
himself, and then explained the meaning in Saxon to his 
confederates. 

“Execute the noble Cedric!” exclaimed Wamba; “by 
the rood, thou must be mistaken, Sir Knight.” 

“ Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight, “ I have 
explained the words as they are here set down.” 

“ Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury,” replied Gurth, 
“ we will have the castle, should we tear it down with 
our hands ! ” 

“ We have nothing else to tear \t with,” replied Wamba; 
“ but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks of freestone 
and mortar.” 

“’Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley; 
“ they dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fear- 
ful penalty.” 


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“ I would/’ said the Black Knight, “ there were some 
one among us who could obtain admission into the castle, 
and discover how the case stands with the besieged. Me- 
thinks, as they require a confessor to be sent, this holy 
5 hermit might at once exercise his pious vocation and pro- 
cure us the information we desire.” 

“ A plague on thee and thy advice ! ” said the pious 
hermit ; “ I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff 
my friar’s frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my very 
10 Latin, are put off along with it; and when in my green 
jerkin I can better kill twenty deer than confess one 
Christian.” 

“ I fear,” said the Black Knight — “ I fear greatly there 
is no one here that is qualified to take upon him, for the 
15 nonce, this same character of father confessor?” 

All looked on each other, and were silent. 

“I see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, “that the 
fool must be still the fool, and put his neck in the ven- 
ture which wise men shrink from. You must know, my 
20 dear cousins and countrymen, that I wore russet before 
I wore motley, and was bred to be a friar, until a brain- 
fever came upon me and left me just wit enough to be a 
fool. I trust, with the assistance of the good hermit’s 
frock, together with the priesthood, sanctity, and learning 
25 which are stitched into the cowl of it, I shall be found 
qualified to administer both worldly and ghostly comfort 
to our worthy master Cedric and his companions in ad- 
versity.” 

“ Hath he sense enough, thinkst thou ? ” said the Black 
30 Knight, addressing Gurth. 

“ I know not,” said Gurth ; “ but if he hath not, it will 
be the first time he hath wanted wit to turn his folly to 
account.” 

“ On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the 
35 Knight, “ and let thy master send us an account of their 
situation within the castle. Their numbers must be few, 
and it is five to one they may be accessible by a sudden 
and bold attack. Time wears — away with thee.” 

“ And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, “ we will beset 


Ivanhoe 


275 

the place so closely that not so much as a fly shall carry 
news from thence. So that, my good friend,” he con- 
tinued, addressing Wamba, “ thou mayst assure these 
tyrants that whatever violence they exercise on the per- 
sons of their prisoners shall be most severely repaid upon 5 
their own.” 

“Pax vobiscum said Wamba, who was now muffled in 
his religious disguise. 

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately de- 
portment of a friar, and departed to execute his mission. 10 



CHAPTER XXVI 


The hottest horse will oft be cool, 

The dullest will show fire; 

The friar will often play the fool. 

The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song. 

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the 
hermit, and having his knotted cord twisted round his 
middle, stood before the portal of the castle of Front-de- 
Boeuf, the warder demanded of him his name and errand. 
6 “ Pax vobiscum” answered the Jester, “ I am a poor 

brother of the Order of St. Francis, who come hither to 
do my office to certain unhappy prisoners now secured 
within this castle.” 

“ Thou art a bold friar,” said the warder, “ to come 
10 hither, where, saving our own drunken confessor, a cock 
of thy feather hath not crowed these twenty years.” 

“Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the 
castle,” answered the pretended friar ; “ trust me, it will 
find good acceptance with him, and the cock shall crow, 
15 that the whole castle shall hear him.” 

“ Gramercy,” said the warder ; “ but if I come to shame 
for leaving my post upon thine errand, I will try whether 
a friar’s gray gown be proof against a gray-goose shaft.” 

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the 
20 hall c^f the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy 
friar stood before the gate and demanded instant admis- 
sion. With no small wonder he received his master’s 
commands to admit the holy man immediately ; and, hav- 
ing previously manned the entrance to guard against sur- 
25 prise, he obeyed, without further scruple, the commands 

276 


Ivanhoe 


277 


which he had received. The hare-brained self-conceit 
which had emboldened Wamba to undertake this dangerous 
office was scarce sufficient to support him when he found 
himself in the presence of a man so dreadful, and so 
much dreaded, as Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and he 
brought out his “Pax vobiscum ” to which he, in a good 
measure, trusted for supporting his character, with more 
anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. 
But Front-de-Boeuf was accustomed to see men of all 
ranks tremble in his presence, so that the timidity of the 
supposed father did not give him any cause of suspicion. 
“ Who and whence art thou, priest ? ” said he. 

“ Pax vobiscum,” reiterated the Jester, “I am a poor 
servant of St. Francis, who, traveling through this wilder- 
ness, have fallen among thieves as Scripture hath it — 
quidam viator incidit in latrones — which thieves have 
sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostly office 
on two persons condemned by your honorable justice.” 

“Aye, right,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “and canst 
thou tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti ? ” 
“ Gallant sir,” answered the Jester, “ nomen illis legio 
t — their name is legion.” 

“ Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, 
priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the supposed friar, “ cor meum eructavit , 
that is to say, I was like to burst with fear ! but I con- 
ceive they may be* what of yeomen, what of commons, at 
least five hundred men.” 

“What!” said the Templar, who came into the hall 
that moment, “ muster the wasps so thick here ? It is 
time to stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then taking 
Front-de-Boeuf aside, “ Knowest thou the priest ? ” 

“ He is a stranger from a distant convent,” said Front- 
de-Boeuf ; “ I know him not.” « « 

“ Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,” an- 
swered the Templar. “ Let him carry a written order to 
De B racy’s company of Free Companions, to repair in- 
stantly to their master’s aid. In the meantime, and that 
the shaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go 


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278 Ivanhoe 

freely about his task of preparing these Saxon hogs for 
the slaughter-house.” 

“ It shall be so,” said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forth- 
with appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba to the 
5 apartment where Cedric and Athelstane were confined. 

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced 
than diminished by his confinement. He walked from one 
end of the hall to the other, with the attitude of one who 
advances to charge an enemy, or to storm the breach of 
10 a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, 
sometimes addressing Athelstane, who stoutly and stoically 
awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting, in the mean- 
time, with great composure, the liberal meal which he had 
made at noon, and not greatly interesting himself about 
15 the duration of his captivity, which he concluded would 
like all earthly evils, find an end in Heaven’s good time. 

“Pax vobiscum” said the Jester, entering the apart- 
ment ; “ the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Denis, St. Duthoc, 
and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about 
20 ye.” 

“ Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed friar ; 
“ with what intent art thou come hither ? ” 

“ To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” answered 
the Jester. 

25 “ It is impossible ! ” replied Cedric, starting. “ Fear- 

less and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such 
open and gratuitous cruelty ! ” 

“ Alas ! ” said the Jester, “ to restrain them by their 
sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse 
30 with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, 
noble Cedric, and you also, gallant Athelstane, what 
crimes you have committed in the flesh ; for this very day 
will ye be called to answer at a higher tribunal.” 

“ Hearest thou this, Athelstane?” said Cedric. “ We 
35 must rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better 
it is we should die like men than live like slaves.” 

“ I am ready,” answered Athelstane, “ to stand the worst 
of their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much 
composure as ever I did to my dinner” 


Ivanhoe 


279 

“ Let us then unto our holy gear, father/’ said Cedric. 

“ Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester, in 
his natural tone ; “ better look long before you leap in the 
dark.” 

“ By my faith,” said Cedric, “ I should know that 
voice ! ” 

“ It is that of your trusty slave and jester,” answered 
Wamba, throwing back his cowl. “ Had you taken a 
fool’s advice formerly, you would not have been here at 
all. Take a fool’s advice now, and you will not be here 
long.” • 

“ How mean’st thou, knave ? ” answered the Saxon. 

“Even thus,” replied Wamba; “take thou this frock 
and cord, which are all the orders I ever had, and march 
quietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle 
to take the long leap in thy stead.” 

“ Leave thee in my stead ! ” said Cedric, astonished at 
the proposal ; “ why, they would hang thee, my poor 
knave.” 

“ E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said Wamba; 
“ I trust — no disparagement to your birth — that the 
son of Witless may hang in a chain with as much gravity 
as the chain hung upon his ancestor the alderman.” 

“ Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “ for one thing will 
I grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the 
exchange of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of 
me.” 

“ No, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there were 
little reason in that. Good right there is that the son of 
Witless should suffer to save the son of Hereward; but 
little wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of 
one whose fathers were strangers to his.” 

“ Villain,” said Cedric, “ the fathers of Athelstane were 
monarchs of England ! ” 

“ They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied 
Wamba; “but my neck stands too straight upon my 
shoulders to have it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, 
good my master, either take my proffer yourself or suffer 
me to leave this dungeon as free as I entered,” 


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“ Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “ so the 
stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble 
Athelstane, my trusty Wamba ! it is the duty of each 
who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide 
5 together the utmost rage of our injurious oppressors, 
while he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits 
of our countrymen to avenge us.” 

“ Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping his 
hand, for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and 
10 sentiments were not unbecoming his high race — “ not 
so,” he continued; “I would rather remain. in this hall a 
week without food save the prisoner’s stinted loaf, or 
drink save the prisoner’s measure of water, than embrace 
the opportunity to escape which the slave’s untaught kind- 
15 ness has purveyed for his master.” 

“ You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester, “ and 
I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric and cousin Athelstane, 
the fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and save 
ye the trouble of straining courtesies any farther. I am 
20 like John-a-Duck’s mare, that will let no man mount her 
but John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he 
will not consent, basta ! I can but go away home again. 
Kind service cannot be chucked from hand to hand like 
a shuttlecock or stool-ball. I’ll hang for no man but my 
25 own born master.” 

“ Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, “ neglect not 
this opportunity. Your presence without may encourage 
friends to our rescue; your remaining here would ruin 
us all.” 

30 “ And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from with- 

out?” said Cedric, looking to the Jester. 

“Prospect, indeed;” echoed Wamba; “let me tell you, 
when you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s 
cassock. Five hundred men are there without, and I 
35 was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool’s 
cap was a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. Well, we 
shall see what good they will make by exchanging a fool 
for a wise man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valor 


Ivanhoe 


j 


2B3 


what they may gain in terrupted by the harsh voice of 
master, and be kind to poor ^ , 

and let my cockscomb hang in the hall at iwaierwood, 

in memory that I flung away my life for my master, like ■ 

a faithful — fool.” The last word came out with a sort 5 

of double expression, betwixt jest and earnest. 

The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes. “ Thy memory shall 
be preserved,” he said, “ while fidelity and affection have 
honor upon earth ! But that I trust I shall find the means 
of saving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, an^ thee also, 10 
my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me in this 
matter.” 

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a 
sudden doubt struck Cedric. 

“ I know no language,” he said, “ but my own, and a 15 
few words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear 
myself like a reverend brother ? ” 

“The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba. “ Pax 
vobiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat 
or drink, bless or ban, Pax vobiscum carries you through 20 
it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a 
witch, or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a 
deep grave tone — Pax vobiscum — it is irresistible. 
Watch and ward, knight and squire, foot and horse, it 
acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if they bring me 25 
out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be doubted 
they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher of the 
sentence.” 

“ If such prove the case,” said his master, “ my re- 
ligious orders are soon taken — Pax vobiscum. I trust SO 
I shall remember the password. Noble Athelstane, fare- 
well ; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make 
amends for a weaker head ; I will save you, or return and 
die with you. The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall 
not be spilt while mine beats in my veins; nor shall one 35 
hair fall from the head of the kind knave who risked 
himself for his master, if Cedric’s peril can prevent it. 
Farewell.” 


280 Ivanhoe \ 

\L 

“ Let the old tree wither, c^j Athelstane ; “ remember, 
hope to acce pt refreshment, if you 

are offered *any.” 

“ Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “ and remember Pax 
5 vobiscum.” 

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedi- 
tion ; and it was not long ere he had occasion to try the 
force of that spell which his Jester had recommended as 
omnipotent. In a low-arched and dusky passage, by which 
10 he endeavored to work his way to the hall of the castle, 
he was interrupted by a female form. 

" Pax vobiscum ! " said the pseudo friar, and was en- 
deavoring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, “ Et 
vobis; quoeso, domine reverendissime, pro misericordia 
15 vestra.” 

“I am somewhat deaf,” replied Cedric, in good Saxon, 
and at the same time muttered to himself, “ A curse On 
the fool and his Pax vobiscum! I have lost my javelin 
at the first cast.” 

20 It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those 
days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person who 
now addressed Cedric knew full well. 

“ I pray you of dear love, reverend father,” she replied 
in his own language, “ that you will deign to visit with 
25 your ghostly comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle, 
and have such compassion upon him and us as thy holy 
office teaches. Never shall good deed so highly advantage 
thy convent.” 

" Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed, “ my 
30 time in this castle will not permit me to exercise the du- 
ties of mine office. I must presently forth : there is life 
and death upon my speed.” 

“ Yet, father let me entreat you by the vow you have 
taken on you,” replied the suppliant, “ not to leave the 
35 oppressed and endangered without counsel or succor.” 

“ May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifrin 
with the souls of Odin and of Thor ! ” answered Cedric, 
impatiently, and would probably have proceeded in the 
same tone of total departure from his spiritual character, 


Ivanhoe 


when the colloquy was interrupted by the harsh voice of 
Ur fried, the old crone of the turret. 

“ How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, “ is 
this the manner in which you requite the kindness which 
permitted thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder? Puttest 
thou the reverend man to use ungracious language to 
free himself from the importunities of a Jewess?” 

“ A Jewess ! ” said Cedric, availing himself of the in- 
formation to get clear of their interruption. “ Let me 
pass, woman ! stop me not at your peril. I am fresh from 
my holy office, and would avoid pollution.” 

“ Come this way, father,” said the old hag, “ thou art a 
stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without a 
guid£. Come hither, for I would speak with thee. And 
you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick man’s 
chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide 
you if you again quit it without my permission ! ” 

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed 
upon Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried 
had employed her services where she herself would most 
gladly have paid them, by the bedside of the wounded 
Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to their danger- 
ous situation, and prompt to avail herself of each means 
of safety which occurred, Rebecca had hoped something 
from the presence of a man of religion, who, she learned 
from Urfried, had penetrated into this godless castle. She 
watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic, with the 
purpose of addressing him, and interesting him in favor of 
the prisoners ; with what imperfect success the reader has 
been just acquainted. 


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CHAPTER XXVII 


Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate, 

But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin? 

Thy deeds are proved — thou know’st thy fate ; 

But come, thy tale! begin — begin. 

But I have griefs of other kind. 

Troubles and sorrows more severe; 

Give me to ease my tortured mind, 

Lend to my woes a patient ear; 

And let me, if I may not find 

A friend to help, find one to hear. 

Crabbe’s Hall of Justice. 

When Urfried had with clamors and menaces driven 
Rebecca back to the apartment from which she had sal- 
lied, she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a 
small apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. 
5 Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two 
flagons, she placed them on the table, and said in a tone 
rather asserting a fact than asking a question, “ Thou art 
Saxon, father. Deny it not,” she continued, observing 
that Cedric hastened not to reply ; “ the sounds of my 
10 native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom 
heard save from the tongues of the wretched and degraded 
serfs on whom the proud Normans impose the meanest 
drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, father — 
a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God, a free- 
15 man. Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.” 

“Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?” replied 
Cedric ; “ it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the out- 
cast and oppressed children of the soil.” 

“They come not; or if they come, they better love to 
20 revel at the boards of their conquerors,” answered Ur- 

284 


Ivanhoe 


285 

fried, “ than to hear the groans of their countrymen ; so, 
at least, report speaks of them, of myself I can say little. 
This castle, for ten years, has opened to no priest save the 
debauched Norman chaplain who partook the nightly 
revels of Front-de-Boeuf, and he has been long gone to 
render an account of his stewardship. But thou art a 
Saxon — a Saxon priest, and I have one question to ask 
of thee.” 

“I am a Saxon,” answered Cedric, “ but unworthy, 
surely, of the name of priest. Let me begone on my way. 
I swear I will return, or send one of our fathers more 
worthy to hear your confession.” 

“Stay yet a while,” said Urfried; “the accents of the 
voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked with 
the cold earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast 
I have lived. But wine must give me strength to tell the 
horrors of my tale.” She poured out a cup, and drank it 
with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of drain- 
ing the last drop in the goblet. “ It stupefies,” she said, 
looking upwards as she finished her draught, “ but it can- 
not cheer. Partake it, father, if you would hear my tale 
without sinking down upon the pavement.” Cedric would 
have avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, 
but the sign which she made to him expressed impatience 
and despair. He complied with her request, and answered 
her challenge in a large wine-cup; she then proceeded 
with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance. 

“ I was not born,” she said, “ father, the wretch that 
thou now seest me. I was free, was happy, was honored, 
loved, and was beloved. I am now a slave, miserable and 
degraded, the sport of my masters’ passions while I had 
yet beauty, the object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred, 
since it has passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, that 
I should hate mankind, and, above all, the race that has 
wrought this change in me? Can the wrinkled decrepit 
hag before thee, whose wrath must vent itself in impotent 
curses, forget she was once the daughter of the noble 
thane of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand 
vassals trembled?” 


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“Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!” said 
Cedric, receding as he spoke ; “ thou — thou — the 

daughter of that noble Saxon, my father’s friend and 
companion in arms ! ” 

5 “ Thy father’s friend ! ” echoed Urfried ; “ then Cedric 

called the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Here- 
ward of Rotherwood had but one son, whose name is well 
known among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric 
of Rotherwood, why this religious dress? hast thou too 
10 despaired of saving thy country, and sought refuge from 
oppression in the shade of the convent?” 

“ It matters not who I am,” said Cedric ; “ proceed, un- 
happy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt ! Guilt 
there must be; there is guilt even in thy living to tell 
15 it.” 

“ There is — there is,” answered the wretched woman, 
“ deep, black, damning guilt — guilt that lies like a load 
at my breast — guilt that all the penitential fires of here- 
after cannot cleanse. Yes, in these halls, stained with 
20 the noble and pure blood of my father and my brethren 
— in these very halls, to have lived the paramour of their 
murderer, the slave at once and the partaker of his pleas- 
ures, was to render every breath which I drew of vital 
air a crime and a curse.” 

25 “Wretched woman!” exclaimed Cedric. “And while 
the friends of thy father — while each true Saxon heart, 
as it breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his 
valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers the murdered 
Ulrica — while all mourned and honored the dead, thou 
30 hast lived to merit our hate and execration — lived to 
unite thyself with the vile tyrant who murdered thy near- 
est and dearest, who shed the blood of infancy rather 
than a male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfganger 
should survive — with him hast thou lived to unite thyself, 
35 and in the bands of lawless love ! ” 

“ In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love ! ” 
answered the hag; “love will sooner visit the regions of 
eternal doom than those unhallowed vaults. No; with 
that at least I cannot reproach myself: hatred to Frorit- 


Ivanhoe 287 

de-Boeuf and his race governed my soul most deeply, even 
in the hour of his guilty endearments.” 

“You hated him, and yet you lived,” replied Cedric; 
“wretch! was there no poniard — no knife — no bodkin! 
Well was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an ex- 
istence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are like those 
of the grave. For had I but dreamed of the daughter 
of Torquil living in foul communion with the murderer 
of her father, the sword of a true Saxon had found thee 
out even in the arms of thy paramour ! ” 

“ Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the 
j name of Torquil?” said Ulrica, for we may now lay 
| aside her assumed name of Urfried; “thou art then the 
! true Saxon report speaks thee ! for even within these ac- 
cursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds 
itself in inscrutable mystery — even there has the name of 
Cedric been sounded; and I, wretched and degraded, have 
rejoiced to think that there yet breathed an avenger of 
our unhappy nation. I also have had my hours of venge- 
ance. I have fomented the quarrels of our foes, and 
heated drunken revelry into murderous broil. I have 
seen their blood flow — I have heard their dying groans ! 
Look on me, Cedric; are there not still left on this foul 
and faded face some traces of the features of Torquil?” 

“ Ask me not of them, Ulrica,” replied Cedric, in a tone 
of grief mixed with abhorrence ; “ these traces form such 
a resemblance as arises from the grave of the dead when 
a fiend has animated the lifeless corpse.” 

“ Be it so,” answered Ulrica ; “ yet wore these fiendish 
features the mask of a spirit of light when they were able 
to set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his son 
Reginald ! The darkness of hell should hide what fol- 
lowed; but revenge must lift the veil, and darkly intimate 
what it would raise the dead to speak aloud. Long had 
the smoldering fire of discord glowed between the tyrant 
father and his savage son; long had I nursed, iii secret, 
the unnatural hatred ; it blazed forth in an hour of 
drunken wassail, and at his own board fell my oppressor 
by the hand of his own son: such are the secrets these 


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Ivanhoe 


vaults conceal ! Rend asunder, ye accursed arches,” she 
added, looking up towards the roof, “ and bury in your 
fall all who are conscious of the hideous mystery ! ” 

“ And thou, creature of guilt and misery,” said Cedric, 
5 “ what became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher ? ” 

“ Guess it, but ask it not. Here — here I dwelt, till 
age, premature age, has stamped its ghastly features on 
my countenance — scorned and insulted where I was once 
obeyed, and compelled to bound the revenge which had 
10 once such ample scope to the efforts of petty malice of a 
discontented menial, or the vain or unheeded curses of an 
impotent hag; condemned to hear from my lonely turret 
the sounds of revelry in which I once partook, or the 
shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression.” 

15 “ Ulrica,” said Cedric, “ with a heart which still, I fear, 

regrets the lost reward of thy crimes, as much as the 
deeds by which thou didst acquire that meed, how didst 
thou dare to address thee to one who wears this robe? 
Consider, unhappy woman, what could the sainted Ed- 
20 ward himself do for thee, were he here in bodily presence? 
The royal Confessor was endowed by Heaven with power 
to cleanse the ulcers of the body; but only God Himself 
can cure the leprosy of the soul.” 

“ Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,” she 
25 exclaimed, “ but tell me, if thou canst, in what shall 
terminate these new and awful feelings that burst on my 
solitude. Why do deeds, long since done, rise before me 
in new and irresistible horrors? What fate is prepared 
beyond the grave for her to whom God has assigned on 
30 earth a lot of such unspeakable wretchedness? Better 
had I turn to Woden, Hertha, and Zernebock, to Mista, 
and to Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptized ancestors, 
than endure the dreadful anticipations which have of late 
haunted my waking and my sleeping hours ! ” 

35 “ I am no priest,” said Cedric, turning with disgust 

from this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and 
despair — “ I am no priest, though I wear a priest’s gar- 
ment.” 

“ Priest or layman,” answered Ulrica, “ thou art the 


Ivanhoe 


289 


first I have seen for twenty years by whom God was 
feared or man regarded; and dost thou bid me despair?” 

“ I bid thee repent,” said Cedric. “ Seek to prayer and 
penance, and mayest thou find acceptance ! But I can 
not, I will not, longer abide with thee.” 5 

“ Stay yet a moment ! ” said Ulrica ; “ leave me not 
now, son of my father’s friend, lest the demon who has 
governed my life should tempt me to avenge myself of 
thy hard-hearted scorn. Thinkest thou, if Front-de-Bceuf 
found Cedric the Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise, 1C 
that thy life would be a long one ? Already his eye has 
been upon thee like a falcon on his prey.” 

“ And be it so,” said Cedric ; “ and let him tear me 
with beak and talons, ere my tongue say one word which 
my heart doth not warrant. I will die a Saxon — true in 15 
word, open in deed. I bid thee avaunt! touch me not, 
stay me not ! The sight of Front-de-Bceuf himself is 
less odious than thou, degraded and degenerated as thou 
art.” 

“ Be it so,” said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him ; 20 
“ go thy way, and forget, in the insolence of thy superi- 
ority, that the wretch before thee is the daughter of thy 
father’s friend. Go thy way; if I am separated from 
mankind by my sufferings — separated from those whose 
aid I might most justly expect — not less will I be sepa- 25 
rated from them in my revenge ! No man shall aid me, 
but the ears of all men shall tingle to hear of the deed 
which I shall dare to do ! Farewell ! thy scorn has burst 
the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to my kind — 
a thought that my woes might claim the compassion of 30 
my people.” 

“ Ulrica,” said Cedric, softened by this appeal, “ hast 
thou borne up and endured to live through so much guilt 
and so much misery, and wilt thou now yield to despair 
when thine eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when re- 35 
pentance were thy fitter occupation ? ” 

“ Cedric,” answered Ulrica, “ thou little knowest the 
human heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I have 
thought, requires the maddening love of pleasure, min- 


Ivanhoe 


290 

gled with the keen appetite of revenge, the proud con- 
sciousness of power — draughts too intoxicating for the 
human heart to bear, and yet retain the power to prevent. 
Their force has long passed away. Age has no pleas- 
5 ures, wrinkles have no influence, revenge itself dies away 
in impotent curses. Then comes remorse, with all its 
vipers, mixed with vain regrets for the past and despair 
for the future ! Then, when all other strong impulses 
have ceased, we become like the fiends in hell r who may 
10 feel remorse, but never repentance. But thy words have 
awakened a new soul within me. Well hast thou said, 
all is possible for those who dare to die ! Thou hast 
shown me the means of revenge, and be assured I will 
embrace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted bosom 
15 with other and with rival passions; henceforward it shall 
possess me wholly, and thou thyself shalt say that, what- 
ever was the life of Ulrica, her death well became the 
daughter of the noble Torquil. There is a force without 
beleaguering this accursed castle; hasten to lead them 
20 to the attack, and when thou shalt see a red flag wave 
from the turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press 
the Normans hard: they will then have enough to do 
within, and you may win the wall in spite both of bow 
and mangonel. Begone, I pray thee; follow thine own 
25 fate, and leave me to mine.” 

Cedric would have inquired farther into the purpose 
which she thus darkly announced, but the stern voice 
of Front-de-Boeuf was heard exclaiming, “ Where tarries 
this loitering priest? By the scallop-shell of Compos- 
30 tella, I will make a martyr of him, if he loiters here to 
hatch treason among my domestics ! ” 

“ What a true prophet,” said Ulrica, “ is an evil con- 
science ! But heed him not ; out and to thy people. Cry 
your Saxon onslaught; and let them sing their war- 
35 song of Rollo, if they will, vengeance shall bear a burden 
to it.” 

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private 
door, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. 
Cedric, with some difficulty, compelled himself to make 


Ivanhoe 


291 

obeisance to the haughty Baron, who returned his cour- 
tesy with a slight inclination of the head. 

“ Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift : it 
is the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever 
make. Hast thou prepared them for death ? ” 

“ I found them,” said Cedric, in such French as he 
could command, “ expecting the worst, from the moment 
they knew into whose power they had fallen.” 

“How now. Sir Friar,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “thy 
speech, methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue ? ” 

“ I was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Burton,” 
answered Cedric. 

“ Aye ? ” said the Baron ; “ it had been better for thee 
to have been a Norman, and better for my purpose too; 
but need has no choice of messengers. That St. With- 
old’s of Burton is a howlet’s nest worth the harrying. 
The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the 
Saxon as little as the mailcoat.” 

“ God’s will be done,” said Cedric, in a voice tremulous 
with passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear. 

“ I see,” said he, “ thou dreamest already that our 
men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. 
But do me one cast of thy holy office, and, come what list 
of others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail 
within his shell of proof.” 

“ Speak your commands,” said Cedric, with suppressed 
emotion. 

“ Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dis- 
miss thee by the postern.” 

And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, 
Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he 
desired he should act. 

“ Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who 
have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell 
them whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this 
fortalice, or aught else that can detain them before it 
for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll. 
But soft — canst read, Sir Priest ? ” 

“ Not a iot I,” answered Cedric, “ save on my breviary; 


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and then I know the characters, because I have the 
holy service by heart, praised be Our Lady and St. 
Withold ! ” 

“ The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou 
5 this scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it 
cometh from me, and is written by the Templar Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York 
with all the speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, 
tell him to doubt nothing, he shall find us whole and 
10 sound behind our battlement. Shame on it, that we 
should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of runagates, 
who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons 
and the tramp of our horses ! I say to thee, priest, con- 
trive some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where 
15 they are, until our friends bring up their lances. My 
vengeance is awake, and she is a falcon that slumbers 
not till she has been gorged.” 

“ By my patron saint,” said Cedric, with deeper energy 
than became his character, “ and by every saint who 
20 has lived and died in England, your commands shall be 
obeyed ! Not a Saxon shall stir from before these walls, 
if I have art and influence to detain them there.” 

“ Ha ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ thou changest thy tone, 
Sir Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy heart 
25 were in the slaughter of the Saxon herd; and yet thou 
art thyself of kindred to the swine? ” 

Cedric was no ready practicer of the art of dissimula- 
tion, and would at this moment have been much the bet- 
ter of a hint from Wamba’s more fertile brain. But 
30 necessity, according to the ancient proverb, sharpens in- 
vention, and he muttered something under his cowl con- 
cerning the men in question being excommunicated out- 
laws both to church and to kingdom. 

“ Despardieux” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “thou hast 
35 spoken the very truth; I forgot that the knaves can strip 
a fat abbot as well as if they had been born south of 
yonder salt channel. Was it not he of St. Ives whom 
they tied to an oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass 
while they were rifling his mails and his wallets? No, 


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293 

by Our Lady, that jest was played by Gualtier of Middle- 
ton, one of our own companions-at-arms. But they were 
Saxons who robbed the chapel at St. Bees of cup, candle- 
stick, and chalice, were they not ? ” 

“ They were godless men,” answered Cedric. 

“ Aye, and they drank out all of the good wine and ale 
that lay in store for many a secret carousal, when ye 
pretend ye are but busied with vigils and primes ! Priest, 
thou art bound to revenge such sacrilege.” 

“I am indeed bound to vengeance,” murmured Cedric; 
“ St. Withold knows my heart.” 

Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a 
postern, where, passing the moat on a single plank, 
they reached a small barbican, or exterior defense, which 
communicated with the open field by a well-fortified sally- 
port. 

“Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and 
if thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt see 
Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog’s in the shambles of 
Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemest to be a jolly 
confessor; come hither after the onslaught, and thou shalt 
have as much Malvoisie as would drench thy whole con- 
vent.” 

“ Assuredly we shall meet again,” answered Cedric. 

' “ Something in hand the whilst,” continued the Nor- 
man; and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust 
into Cedric’s reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding, “ Re- 
member, I will flay off both cowl and skin if thou failest 
in thy purpose.” 

“ And full leave will I give thee to do both,” answered 
Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth over the 
free field with a joyful step, “ if, when we meet next, I 
deserve not better at thine hand.” Turning then back 
towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold towards 
the donor, exclaiming at the same time, “ False Norman, 
thy money perish with thee ! ” 

Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the 
action was suspicious. “Archers,” he called to the war- 
ders on the outward battlements, “ send me an arrow 


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through yon monk’s frock! Yet stay,” he said, as his 
retainers were bending their bows, “ it avails not ; we 
must thus far trust him since we have no better shift. 
I think he dares not betray me; at the worst I can but 
5 treat with these Saxon dogs whom I have safe in ken- 
nel. Ho! Giles jailer, let them bring Cedric of Rother- 
wood before me, and the other churl, his companion — 
him I mean of Coningsburgh — Athelstane there, or what 
call they him? Their very names are an encumbrance 
10 to a Norman knight’s mouth, and have, as it were, a 
flavor of bacon. Give me a stoup of wine, as jolly Prince 
John said, that I may wash away the relish; place it in 
the armory, and thither lead the prisoners.” 

His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering that 
15 Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils won by his own 
valor and that of his father, he found a flagon of wine 
on the massive oaken table, and. the two Saxon captives 
under the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de- 
Boeuf took a long draught of wine, and then addressed 
20 his prisoners; for the manner in which Wamba drew 
the cap over his face, the change of dress, the gloomy 
and broken light, and the Baron’s imperfect acquaint- 
ance with the features of Cedric, who avoided his Norman 
neighbors, and seldom stirred beyond his own domains, 
25 prevented him from discovering that the most important 
of his captives had made his escape. 

“ Gallants of England,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ how 
relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone ? Are ye 
yet aware what your surquedy and outrecuidance merit, 
30 for scoffing at the entertainment of a prince of the house 
of Anjou? Have ye forgotten how ye requited the un- 
merited hospitality of the royal John? By God and St. 
Denis, an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hang ye 
up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows, till the 
35 kites and hooded crows have made skeletons of you ! 
Speak out, ye Saxon dogs — what bid ye for your worth- 
less lives. How say you, you of Rotherwood ? ” 

“Not a doit I,” answered poor Wamba; “and for 
hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, 


Ivanhoe 


295 

they say, ever since the biggin was bound first round my 
head; so turning me upside down may peradventure re- 
store it again.” 

“St. Genevieve!” said Front-de-Boeuf, “what have 
we got here ? ” 

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s cap 
from the head of the Jester, and throwing open his collar, 
discovered the fatal badge of servitude, the silver collar 
round his neck. 

“ Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets ! ” exclaimed the 
furious Norman, “what have you brought me here?” 

“ I think I can tell you,” said De Bracy, who just en- 
tered the apartment. “ This is Cedric’s clown, who 
fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac of York about a 
question of precedence.” 

“ I shall settle it for them both,” replied Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ they shall hang on the same gallows, unless his 
master and this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well for their 
lives. Their wealth is the least they can surrender; they 
must also carry ofif with them the swarms that are be- 
setting the castle, subscribe a surrender of their pretended 
immunities, and live under us as serfs and vassals; too 
happy if, in the new world that is about to begin, we leave 
them the breath of their nostrils. Go,” said he to two of 
his attendants, “ fetch me the right Cedric hither, and I 
pardon your error for once ; the rather that you but mis- 
took a fool for a Saxon franklin.” 

“Aye, but,” said Wamba, “your chivalrous excellency 
will find there are more fools than franklins among us.” 

“What means the knave?” said Front-de-Boeuf, look- 
ing towards his followers, who, lingering and loth, fal- 
tered forth their belief that, if this were not Cedric who 
was there in presence, they knew not what was become 
of him. 

“ Saints of Heaven ! ” exclaimed De Bracy, “ he must 
have escaped in the monk’s garments ! ” 

“ Fiends of hell ! ” echoed Front-de-Boeuf, “ it was then 
the boar of Rotherwood whom I ushered to the postern, 
and dismissed with my own hands ! And thou,” he said 


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to Wamba, “ whose folly could overreach the wisdom of 
idiots yet more gross than thyself — I will give thee 
holy orders — I will shave thy crown for thee ! Here, 
let them tear the scalp from his head, and then pitch him 
5 headlong from the battlements. Thy trade is to jest, 
canst thou jest now?” 

“ You deal with me better than your word, noble 
knight,” whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits 
of buffoonery were not to be overcome even by the 
10 immediate prospect of death ; “ if you give me the red cap 
you propose, out of a simple monk you will make a car- 
dinal.” 

“ The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, “ is resolved to 
die in his vocation. Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not slay 
15 him. Give him to me to make sport for my Free Com- 
panions. How sayst thou, knave? Wilt thou take heart 
of grace, and go to the wars with me ? ” 

“Aye, with my master’s leave,” said Wamba; “ for, look 
you, I must not slip collar (and he touched that which he 
20 wore) without his permission.” 

“Oh, a Norman- saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,” 
said De Bracy. 

“ Aye, noble sir,” said Wamba, “ and thence goes the 
proverb — 

25 Norman saw on English oak, 

On English neck a Norman yoke; 

Norman spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish; 

Blythe world to England never will be more, 

30 Till England’s rid of all the four.” 

“ Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ to 
stand there listening to a fool’s jargon, when destruction 
is gaping for us ! Seest thou not we are overreached, 
and that our proposed mode of communicating with our 
35 friends without has been disconcerted by this same motley 
gentleman thou art so fond to brother? What views 
have we to expect but instant storm ? ” 


Ivanhoe 


297 

“ To the battlements then,” said De Bracy ; “ when didst 
thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of battle? 
Call the Templar yonder, and let him fight but half so 
well for his life as he has done for his order. Make 
thou to the walls thyself with thy huge body. Let me 
do my poor endeavor in my own way, and I tell thee the 
Saxon outlaws may as well attempt to scale the clouds 
as the castle of Torquilstone ; or, if you will treat with 
the banditti, why not employ the mediation of this worthy 
franklin, who seems in such deep contemplation of the 
w T ine-flagon ? Here, Saxon,” he continued, addressing 
Athelstane, and handing the cup to him, “ rinse thy throat 
with that noble liquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what 
thou wilt do for thy liberty.” 

“ What a man of mold may,” answered Athelstane, 
“ providing it be what a man of manhood ought. Dis- 
miss me free, with my companions, and I will pay a ran- 
som of a thousand marks.” 

“ And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum 
of mankind who are swarming around the castle, con- 
trary to God’s peace and the king’s?” said Front-de- 
Boeuf. 

“ In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “ I will 
withdraw them ; and I fear not but that my father Cedric 
will do his best to assist me.” 

“ We are agreed then,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ thou 
and they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be on 
both sides, for payment of a thousand marks. It is a 
trifling ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude to 
the moderation which accepts of it in exchange of 
your persons. But mark, this extends not to the Jew 
Isaac.” 

“ Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Templar, 
who had now joined them. 

“ Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ belongs to this Sax- 
on’s company.” 

“ I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did,” 
replied Athelstane: “deal with the unbelievers as ye 
list.” 


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“ Neither does the ransom include the Lady Rowena,” 
said De Bracy. “ It shall never be said I was scared 
out of a fair prize without striking a blow for it.” 

“ Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ does our treaty refer 
5 to this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I may make 
him an example to every knave who turns jest into ear- 
nest.” 

“ The Lady Rowena,” answered Athelstane, with the 
most steady countenance, “ is my affianced bride. I will 
10 be drawn by wild horses before I consent to part with 
her. The slave Wamba has this day saved the life of 
my father Cedric. I will lose mine ere a hair of his head 
be injured.” 

“ Thy affianced bride ! The Lady Rowena the affianced 
15 bride of a vassal like thee ! ” said De Bracy. “ Saxon, 
thou dreamest that the days of thy seven kingdoms are 
returned again. I tell thee, the princes of the house of 
Anjou confer not their wards on men of such lineage as 
thine.” 

20 “ My lineage, proud Norman,” replied Athelstane, “ is 

drawn from a source more pure and ancient than that of 
a beggarly Frenchman, whose living is won by selling the 
blood of the thieves whom he assembles under his paltry 
standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and 
25 wise in council, who every day feasted in their hall more 
hundreds than thou canst number individual followers; 
whose names have been sung by minstrels, and their 
laws recorded by Witenagemotes ; whose bones were in- 
terred amid the prayers of saints, and over whose tombs 
30 minsters have been budded.” 

“Thou hast it, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Bceuf, well 
pleased with the rebuff which his companion had re- 
ceived ; “ the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.” 

“ As fairly as a captive can strike,” said De Bracy, 
35 with apparent carelessness ; “ for he whose hands are tied 
should have his tongue at freedom. But thy glibness of 
reply, comrade,” rejoined he, speaking to Athelstane, 
“ will not win the freedom of the Lady Rowena.” 

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer 


Ivanhoe 


2 99 

speech than was his custom to do on any topic, however 
interesting, returned no answer. The conversation was 
interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who announced 
that a monk demanded admittance at the postern gate. 

“ In the name of St. Bennet, the prince of these bull- 
beggars,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ have we a real monk 
this time, or another impostor? Search him, slaves; for 
an ye suffer a second impostor to be palmed upon you, I 
will have your eyes torn out, and hot coals put into the 
sockets.” 

“ Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord,” 
said Giles, “ if this be not a real shaveling. Your squire 
Jocelyn knows him well, and will vouch him to be 
Brother Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon the Prior 
of Jorvaulx.” 

“Admit him,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “most likely he 
brings us news from his jovial master. Surely the devil 
keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved from duty, that 
they are strolling thus wildly through the country. Re- 
move these prisoners; and, Saxon, think on what thou 
hast heard.” 

“ I claim,” said Athelstane, “ an honorable imprison- 
ment, with due care of my board and of my couch, as be- 
comes my rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty for 
ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself the 
best of you bound to answer to me with his body for this 
aggression on my freedom. This defiance hath already 
been sent to thee by thy sewer ; thou underliest it, and 
art bound to answer me. There lies my glove.” 

“ I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,” said 
Front-de-Bceuf, “ nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy. 
Giles,” he continued, “ hang the franklin’s glove upon the 
tine of yonder branched antlers; there shall it remain 
until he is a free man. Should he then presume to de- 
mand it, or to affirm he was unlawfully made my prisoner, 
by the belt of St. Christopher, he will speak to one who 
hath never refused to meet a foe on foot or on horse- 
back, alone or with his vassals at his back ! ” 

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just 


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300 


as they introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared to 
be in great perturbation. 

“ This is the real Deus vobiscum ” said Wamba, as he 
passed the reverend brother ; “ the others were but coun- 
5 terfeits.” 

“ Holy Mother ! ” said the monk, as he addressed the 
assembled knights, “ I am at last safe and in Christian 
keeping ! ” 

“ Safe thou art,” replied De Bracy, “ and for Chris- ; 
10 tianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, , 
whose utter abomination is a Jew; and the good Knight 
Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to slay 1 
Saracens. If these are not good marks of Christianity, | 
I know no other which they bear about them.” 

15 “ Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in 

God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,” said the monk, without i 
noticing the tone of De Bracy’s reply; “ye owe him aid j 
both by knightly faith and holy charity ; for what saith the 
blessed St. Augustin, in his treatise De Civitate Dei — •” 

20 “ What saith the devil ! ” interrupted Front-de-Bceuf ; 

“or rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest? We have lit- 
tle time to hear texts from the holy fathers.” 

“ Sancta Maria!” ejaculated Father Ambrose, “how 
prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen ! But be it 
25 known to you, brave knights, that certain murderous 
caitiffs, casting behind them fear of God and reverence 
of His church, and not regarding the bull of the holy see, 

Si quis, suadente Diabolo — ” 

“ Brother priest,” said the Templar, “ all this we know 
30 or guess at ; tell us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made 
prisoner, and to whom ? ” 

“ Surely,” said Ambrose, “ he is in the hands of the 
men of Belial, infesters of these woods, and contemners 
of the holy text, ‘ Touch not mine anointed, and do my 
35 prophets naught of evil.’ ” 

“ Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,” said 
Front-de-Bceuf, turning to his companions; “and so, in- 
stead of reaching us any assistance, the Prior of Jorvaulx 
requests aid at our hands ? A man is well helped of these 


Ivanhoe 


3 QI 

lazy churchmen when he hath most to do ! But speak 
out, priest, and say at once what doth thy master expect 
from us ? ” 

“ So please you,” said Ambrose, “ violent hands having 
been imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to the 
holy ordinance which I did already quote, and the men 
of Belial having rifled his mails and budgets, and stripped 
him of two hundred marks of pure refined gold, they do 
yet demand of him a large sum beside, ere they will suf- 
fer him to depart from their uncircumcised hands. 
Wherefore the reverend father in God prays you, as his 
dear friends, to rescue him, either by paying down the 
ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms, at 
your best discretion.” 

“ The foul fiend quell the Prior ! ” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ his morning’s draught has been a deep one. 
When did thy master hear of a Norman baron unbuck- 
ling his purse to relieve a churchman, whose bags are ten 
times as weighty as ours? And how can we do aught by 
valor to free him, that are cooped up here by ten times 
our number, and expect an assault every moment?” 

“ And that was what I was about to tell you,” said the 
monk, “ had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God 
help me, I am old, and these foul onslaughts distract an 
aged man’s brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity that they 
assemble a camp, and raise a bank against the walls of 
this castle.” 

“To the battlements!” cried De Bracy, “and let us 
mark what these knaves do without ” ; and so saying, he 
opened a latticed window which led to a sort of bartizan 
or projecting balcony, and immediately called from thence 
to those in the apartment — “ St. Denis, but the old monk 
hath brought true tidings ! They bring forward man- 
telets and pavisses, and the archers muster on the skirts 
of the wood like a dark cloud before a hail-storm.” 

Reginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field, 
and immediately snatched his bugle; and after winding a 
long and loud blast, commanded his men to their posts on 
the walls. 


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“ De Bracy, look to the eastern side where the walls 
are lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well 
taught thee how to attack and defend, look thou to the 
western side. I myself will take post at the barbican. 
5 Yet, do not confine your exertions to any one spot, noble 
friends ! We must this day be everywhere, and multiply 
ourselves, were it possible, so as to carry by our presence 
succor and relief wherever the attack is hottest. Our 
numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply 
10 that defect, since we have only to do with rascal 
clowns.” 

“ But, noble knights,” exclaimed Father Ambrose, 
amidst the bustle and confusion occasioned by the prep- 
arations for defense, “ will none of ye hear the message 
15 of the reverend father in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx? 
I beseech thee to hear me, noble Sir Reginald ! ” 

“ Go patter thy petitions to Heaven,” said the fierce 
Norman, “ for we on earth have no time to listen to them. 
Ho ! there, Anselm ! see that seething pitch and oil are 
20 ready to pour on the heads of these audacious traitors. 
Look that the crossbowmen lack not bolts. Fling abroad 
my banner with the old bull’s head; the knaves shall soon 
find with whom they have to do this day ! ” 

“ But, noble sir,” continued the monk, persevering in 
25 his endeavors to draw attention, “ consider my vow of 
obedience, and let me discharge myself of my superior’s 
errand.” 

“ Away with this prating dotard,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ lock him up in the chapel to tell his beads till 
30 the broil be over. It will be a new thing to the saints 
in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters ; they have not 
been so honored, I trow, since they were cut out of 
stone.” 

“ Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald,” said De 
35 Bracy, “ we shall have need of their aid to-day before yon 
rascal rout disband.” 

“ I expect little aid from their hand,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf, “ unless we were to hurl them from the battle- 
ments on the heads of the villains. There is a huge lum- 


Ivanhoe 


303 

bering St. Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear a whole 
company to the earth.” 

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on 
the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more atten- 
tion than the brutal Front-de-Bceuf or his giddy com- 
panion. 

“ By the faith of mine order,” he said, “ these men ap- 
proach with more touch of discipline than could have been 
judged, however they come by it. See ye how dexterously 
they avail themselves of every cover which a tree or bush 
affords, and shun exposing themselves to the shot of our 
cross-bows ? I spy neither banner nor pennon among 
them, and yet will I gage my golden chain that they are 
led on by some noble knight or gentleman, skillful in the 
practice of wars.” 

“I espy him,” said De Bracy; “I see the waving of a 
knight’s crest, and the gleam of his armor. See yon tall 
man in the black mail, who is busied marshaling the 
farther troop of the rascaille yeomen; by St. Denis, I 
hold him to be the same whom we called Le Noir Fain- 
eant, who overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in the lists at 
Ashby.” 

“ So much the better,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ that he 
comes here to give me my revenge. Some hilding fellow 
he must be, who dared not stay to assert his claim to the 
tourney prize which chance had assigned him. I should 
in vain have sought for him where knights and nobles 
seek their foes, and right glad am I he hath here shown 
himself among yon villain yeomanry.” 

The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate approach 
cut off all farther discourse. Each knight repaired to his 
post, and at the head of the few followers whom they 
were able to muster, and who were in numbers inadequate 
to defend the whole extent of the walls, they awaited 
with calm determination the threatened assault. 


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CHAPTER XXVIII 


The wandering race, sever’d from other men, 

Boast yet their intercourse with human arts; 

The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt. 

Find them acquainted with their secret treasures; 

And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms, 
Display undreamt-of powers when gather’d by them. 

The Jew. 

Our history must needs retrograde for the space of a few 
pages, to inform the reader of certain passages material 
to his understanding the rest of this important narrative. 
His own intelligence may indeed have easily anticipated 
5 that, when Ivanhoe sunk down, and seemed abandoned 
by all the world, it was the importunity of Rebecca which 
prevailed on her father to have the gallant young war- 
rior transported from the lists to the house which, for 
the time, the Jews inhabited in the suburbs of Ashby. 

LO It would not have been difficult to have persuaded Isaac 
to this step in any other circumstances, for his disposition 
was kind and grateful. But he had also the prejudices 
and scrupulous timidity of his persecuted people, and 
those were to be conquered. 

15 “ Holy Abraham ! ” he exclaimed, “ he is a good youth, 

and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle down his rich 
embroidered hacqueton, and his corselet of goodly price; 
but to carry him to our house ! damsel, hast thou well 
considered? He is a Christian, and by our law we may 
20 not deal with the stranger and Gentile, save for the ad- 
vantage of our commerce.” 

“ Speak not so, my dear father,” replied Rebecca ; “ we 
may not indeed mix with them in banquet and in jollity; 
but in wounds and in misery, the Gentile becometh the 
25 Jew’s brother.” 

“ I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob ben Tudela 
304 


Ivanhoe 


305 

would opine on it,” replied Isaac ; “ nevertheless, the good 
youth must not bleed to death. Let Seth and Reuben 
bear him to Ashby.” 

“Nay, let them place him in my litter,” said Rebecca; 
“ I will mount one of the palfreys.” 

“ That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs of 
Ishmael and of Edom,” whispered Isaac, with a suspicious 
glance towards the crowd of knights and squires. But 
Rebecca was already busied in carrying her charitable 
purpose into effect, and listed not what he said, until 
Isaac, seizing the sleeve of her mantle, again exclaimed, 
in a hurried voice — “ Beard of Aaron ! what if the youth 
perish ! If he die in our custody, shall we not be held 
guilty of the blood, and be torn to pieces by the multi- 
tude ? ” 

“ He will not die, my father,” said Rebecca, gently ex- 
tricating herself from the grasp of Isaac — “ he will not 
die unless we abandon him; and if so, we are indeed an- 
swerable for his blood to God and to man.” 

“ Nay,” said Isaac, releasing his hold, “ it grieveth me 
as much to see the drops of his blood as if they were so 
many golden byzants from mine own purse; and I well 
know that the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the Rabbi 
Manasses of Byzantium, whose soul is in Paradise, have 
made thee skillful in the art of healing, and that thou 
knowest the craft of herbs and the force of elixirs. 
Therefore, do as thy mind giveth thee: thou art a good 
damsel — a blessing, and a crown, and a song of rejoic- 
ing unto me and unto my house, and unto the people of 
my fathers.” 

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill 
founded; and the generous and grateful benevolence of 
his daughter exposed her, on her return to Ashby, to the 
unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The Tem- 
plar twice passed and repassed them on the road, fixing 
his bold and ardent look on the beautiful Jewess; and we 
have already seen the consequences of the admiration 
which her charms excited, when accident threw her into 
the power of that unprincipled voluptuary. 


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3°6 

Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be trans- 
ported to their temporary dwelling, and proceeded with 
her own hands to examine and to bind up his wounds. 
The youngest reader of romances and romantic ballads 
5 must recollect how often the females, during the dark 
ages, as they are called, were initiated into the mysteries 
of surgery, and how frequently the gallant knight sub- 
mitted the wounds of his person to her cure whose eyes 
had yet more deeply penetrated his heart. 

10 But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and 
practiced the medical science in all its branches, and the 
monarchs and powerful barons of the time frequently 
committed themselves to the charge of some experienced 
.sage among this despised people when wounded or in 
15 sickness. The aid of the Jewish physicians was not the 
less eagerly sought after, though a general belief prevailed 
among the Christians that the Jewish rabbins were deeply 
acquainted with the occult sciences, and particularly with 
the cabalistical art, which had its name and origin in the 
20 studies of the sages of Israel. Neither did the rabbins 
disown such acquaintance with supernatural arts, which 
added nothing — for what could add aught ? — to the 
hatred with which their nation was regarded, while it di- 
minished the contempt with which that malevolence was 
25 mingled. A Jewish magician might be the subject of 
equal abhorrence with a Jewish usurer, but he could not 
be equally despised. It is, besides, probable, considering 
the wonderful cures they are said to have performed, that 
the Jews possessed some secrets of the healing art pe- 
30 culiar to themselves, and which, with the exclusive spirit 
arising out of their condition, they took great care to 
conceal from the Christians amongst whom they dwelt. 

The beautiful Rebecca had been heedfully brought up 
in all the knowledge proper to her nation, which her apt 
35 and powerful mind had retained, arranged, and enlarged, 
in the course of a progress beyond her years, her sex, 
and even the age in which she lived. Her knowledge of 
medicine and of the healing art had been acquired under 
an aged Jewess, the daughter of one of their most cele- 


Ivanhoe 


307 

brated doctors, who loved Relecca as her own child, and 
was believed to have communicated to her secrets which 
had been left to herself by her sage father at the same 
time, and under the same circumstances. The fate of 
Miriam had indeed been to fall a sacrifice to the fanat- 
icism of the times; but her secrets had survived in her apt 
pupil. 

Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with beauty, 
was universally revered and admired by her own tribe, 
who almost regarded her as one of those gifted women 
mentioned in the sacred history. Her father himself, 
out of reverence for her talents, which involuntarily min- 
gled itself with his unbounded affection, permitted the 
maiden a greater liberty than was usually indulged to 
those of her sex by the habits of her people, and was, as 
we have just seen, frequently guided by her opinion, even 
in preference to his own. 

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he was 
still in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the profuse 
loss of blood which had taken place during his exertions 
in the lists. Rebecca examined the wound, and having 
applied to it such vulnerary remedies as her art pre- 
scribed, informed her father that if fever could be averted, 
of which the great bleeding rendered her little appre- 
hensive, and if the healing balsam of Miriam retained its 
virtue, there was nothing to fear for his guest’s life, and 
that he might with safety travel to York with them on the 
ensuing day. Isaac looked a little blank at this annuncia- 
tion. His charity would willingly have stopped short at 
Ashby, or at most would have left the wounded Christian 
to be tended in the house where he was residing at pres- 
ent, with an assurance to the Hebrew to whom it be- 
longed that all expenses should be duly discharged. To 
this, however, Rebecca opposed many reasons, of which 
we shall only mention two that had peculiar weight with 
Isaac. The one was, that she would on no account put 
the phial of precious balsam into the hands of another 
physician even of her own tribe, lest that valuable mystery 
should be discovered ; the other, that this wounded knight, 


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Ivanhoe 


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Wilfred of Ivanhoe, was an intimate favorite of Richard 
Cceur-de-Lion, and that, in case the monarch should re- 
turn, Isaac, who had supplied his brother John with 
treasure to prosecute his rebellious purposes, would stand 
5 in no small need of a powerful protector who enjoyed 
Richard’s favor. 

“ Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca,” said Isaac, 
giving way to these weighty arguments: “it were an of- 
fending of Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed 
10 Miriam; for the good which Heaven giveth is not rashly 
to be squandered upon others, whether it be talents of 
gold and shekels of silver, or whether it be the secret 
mysteries of a wise physician ; assuredly they should be 
preserved to those to whom Providence hath vouchsafed 
15 them. And him whom the Nazarenes of England call the 
Lion’s Heart — assuredly it were better for me to fall 
into the hands of a strong lion of Idumea than into his, 
if he shall have got assurance of my dealing with his 
brother. Wherefore I will lend ear to thy counsel, and 
20 this youth shall journey with us unto York, and our 
house shall be as a home to him until his wounds shall be 
healed. And if he of the Lion Heart shall return to the 
land, as is now noised abroad, then shall this Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe be unto me as a wall of defense, when the king’s 
25 displeasure shall burn high against thy father. And if he 
doth not return, this Wilfred may natheless repay us our 
charges when he shall gain treasure by the strength of 
his spear and of his sword, even as he did yesterday and 
this day also. For the youth is a good youth, and keep- 
30 eth the day which he appointeth, and restoreth that which 
he borroweth, and succoreth the Israelite, even the child of 
my father’s house, when he is encompassed by strong 
thieves and sons of Belial.” 

It was not until evening was nearly closed that Ivanhoe 
35 was restored to consciousness of his situation. He awoke 
from a broken slumber, under the confused impressions 
which are naturally attendant on the recovery from a 
state of insensibility. He was unable for some time to 
recall exactly to memory the circumstances which had 


Ivanhoe 


309 

preceded his fall in the lists, or to make out any con- 
nected chain of the events in which he had been engaged 
upon the yesterday. A sense of wounds and injury, joined 
to great weakness and exhaustion, was mingled with the 
recollection of blows dealt and received, of steeds rushing 5 
upon each other, overthrowing and overthrown, of shouts 
and clashing of arms, and all the heady tumult of a con- 
fused fight. An effort to draw aside the curtain of his 
couch was in some degree successful, although rendered 
difficult by the pain of his wound. 10 

To his great surprise, he found himself in a room mag- 
nificently furnished, but having cushions instead of chairs 
to rest upon, and in other respects partaking so much of 
Oriental costume that he began to doubt whether he had 
not, during his sleep, been transported back again to the 15 
land of Palestine. The impression was increased when, 
the tapestry being drawn aside, a female form, dressed in 
a rich habit, which partook more of the Eastern taste 
than that of Europe, glided through the door which it 
concealed, and was followed by a swarthy domestic. 20 

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair 
apparition, she imposed silence by placing her slender 
finger upon her ruby lips, while the attendant, approach- 
ing him, proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe’s side, and the 
lovely Jewess satisfied herself that the bandage was in 25 
its place, and the wound doing well. She performed her 
task with a graceful and dignified simplicity and modesty, 
which might, even in more civilized days, have served 
to redeem it from whatever might seem repugnant to 
female delicacy. The idea of so young and beautiful a 30 
person engaged in attendance on a sick-bed, or in dress- 
ing the wound of one of a different sex, was melted away 
and lost in that of a beneficent being contributing her 
effectual aid to relieve pain, and to avert the stroke of 
death. Rebecca’s few and brief directions were given in 35 
the Hebrew language to the old domestic; and he, who 
had been frequently her assistant in similar cases, obeyed 
them without reply. 

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh 


Ivanhoe 


3 IQ 

they might have sounded when uttered by another, had, 
coming from the beautiful Rebecca, the romantic and 
pleasing effect which fancy ascribes to the charms pro- 
nounced by some beneficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, 
5 to the ear, but from the sweetness of utterance and be- 
nignity of aspect which accompanied them touching and 
affecting to the heart. Without making an attempt at fur- 
ther question, Ivanhoe suffered them in silence to take 
the measures they thought most proper for his recovery; 
10 and it was not until those were completed, and this kind 
physician about to retire, that his curiosity could no 
longer be suppressed. “ Gentle maiden,” he began in the 
Arabian tongue, with which his Eastern travels had ren- 
dered him familiar, and which he thought most likely to 
15 be understood by the turbaned and caftaned damsel who 
stood before him — “ I pray you, gentle maiden, of your 
courtesy — ” 

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, a 
smile which she could scarce suppress dimpling for an in- 
20 stant a face whose general expression was that of contem- 
plative melancholy. “ I am of England, Sir Knight, and 
speak the English tongue, although my dress and my 
lineage belong to another climate.” 

“ Noble damsel — ” again the Knight of Ivanhoe be- 
25 gan, and again Rebecca hastened to interrupt him. 

“ Bestow not on me, Sir Knight,” she said, “ the epithet 
of noble. It is well you should speedily know that your 
handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the daughter of that Isaac 
of York to whom you were so lately a good and kind 
30 lord. It well becomes him and those of his household to 
render to you such careful tendance as your present state 
necessarily demands.” 

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have been 
altogether satisfied with the species of emotion with 
35 which her devoted knight had hitherto gazed on the 
beautiful features, and fair form, and lustrous eyes of 
the lovely Rebecca — eyes whose brilliancy was shaded, 
and, as it were, mellowed, by the fringe of her long silken 
eyelashes, and which a minstrel would have compared to 


Ivanhoe 


3ii 

the evening star darting its rays through a bower of 
jessamine. But Ivanhoe was too good a Catholic to re- 
tain the same class of feelings towards a Jewess. This 
Rebecca had foreseen, and for this very purpose she had 
hastened to mention her father’s name and lineage; yet — 
for the fair and wise daughter of Isaac was not without 
a touch of female weakness — she could not but sigh in- 
ternally when the glance of respectful admiration, not 
altogether unmixed with tenderness, with which Ivanhoe 
had hitherto regarded his unknown benefactress, was 
exchanged at once for a manner cold, composed, and col- 
lected, and fraught with no deeper feeling than that which 
expressed a grateful sense of courtesy received from an 
unexpected quarter, and from one of an inferior race. It 
was not that Ivanhoe’s former carriage expressed more 
than that general devotional homage which youth always 
pays to beauty; yet it was mortifying that one word 
should operate as a spell to remove poor Rebecca, who 
could not be supposed altogether ignorant of her title to 
such homage, into a degraded class, to whom it could not 
be honorably rendered. 

But the gentleness and candor of Rebecca’s nature im- 
puted no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the universal 
prejudices of his age and religion. On the contrary, the 
fair Jewess, though sensible her patient now regarded 
her as one of a race of reprobation, with whom it was 
disgraceful to hold any beyond the most necessary inter- 
course, ceased not to pay the same patient and devoted 
attention to his safety and convalescence. She informed 
him of the necessity they were under of removing to 
York, and of her father’s resolution to transport him 
thither, and tend him in his own house until his health 
should be restored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance 
to this plan, which he grounded on unwillingness to give 
farther trouble to his benefactors. 

“ Was there not,” he said, “ in Ashby, or near it, some 
Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant, who would 
endure the burden of a wounded countryman’s residence 
with him until he should be again able to bear his armor? 


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Ivanhoe 


3 12 

Was there no convent of Saxon endowment, where he 
could be received? Or could he not be transported as 
far as Burton, where he was sure to find hospitality with 
Waltheoff, the Abbot of St. Withold’s, to whom he was 
5 related ? ” 

“ Any, the worst of these harborages,” said Rebecca, 
with a melancholy smile, “ would unquestionably be more 
fitting for your residence than the abode of a despised 
Jew; yet, Sir Knight, unless you would dismiss your 
10 physician, you cannot change your lodging. Our nation, 
as you well know, can cure wounds, though we deal not 
in inflicting them; and in our own family, in particular, 
are secrets which have been handed down since the days 
of Solomon, and of which you have already experienced 
15 the advantages. No Nazarene — I crave your forgive- 
ness, Sir Knight — no Christian leech, within the four 
seas of Britain, could enable you to bear your corselet 
within a month.” 

“ And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it ? ” said 
20 Ivanhoe, impatiently. 

“ Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and con- 
formable to my directions,” replied Rebecca. 

“ By Our Blessed Lady,” said Wilfred, “ if it be not a 
sin to name her here, it is no time for me or any true 
25 knight to be bedridden; and if thou accomplish thy prom- 
ise, maiden, I will pay thee with my casque full of crowns, 
come by them as I may.” 

“ I will accomplish my promise,” said Rebecca, “ and 
thou shalt bear thine armor on the eighth day from hence, 
30 if thou wilt grant me but one. boon in the stead of the 
silver thou dost promise me.” 

“If it be within my power, and such as a true Chris- 
tian knight may yield to one of thy people,” replied Ivan- 
hoe, “ I will grant thy boon blithely and thankfully.” 

35 “ Nay,” answered Rebecca, “ I will but pray of thee to 

believe henceforward that a Jew may do good service to 
a Christian, without desiring other guerdon than the 
blessing of the Great Father who made both Jew and 
Gentile." ' 


Ivanhoe 


3 1 3 

“ It were a sin to doubt it, maiden,” replied Ivanhoe ; 
“ and I repose myself on thy skill without further scruple 
or question, well trusting you will enable me to bear my 
corselet on the eighth day. And now, my kind leech, let 
me inquire of the news abroad. What of the noble Saxon 
Cedric and his household? what of the lovely Lady — ” 
He stopped, as if unwilling to speak Rowena’s name in 
the house of a Jew — “Of her, I mean, who was named 
Queen of the tournament ? ” 

“ And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to hold that 
dignity, with judgment which was admired as much as 
your valor,” replied Rebecca. 

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a 
flush from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had incau- 
tiously betrayed his deep interest in Rowena by the awk- 
ward attempt he had made to conceal it. 

“ It was less of her I would speak,” said he, “ than of 
Prince John; and I would fain know somewhat of a faith- 
ful squire, and why he now attends me not ? ” 

“ Let me use my authority as a leech,” answered Re- 
becca, “and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid agita- 
ting reflections, whilst I apprise you of what you desire 
to know. Prince John hath broken off the tournament, 
and set forward in all haste towards York, with the no- 
bles, knights, and churchmen of his party, after collecting 
such sums as they could wring, by fair means or foul, 
from those who are esteemed the wealthy of the land. It 
is said he designs to assume his brother’s crown.” 

“ Not without a- blow struck in its defense,” said Ivan- 
hoe, raising himself upon the couch, “ if there were but 
one true subject in England. I will fight for Richard’s 
title with the best of them — aye, one to two, in his just 
quarrel ! ” 

“ But that you may be able to do so,” said Rebecca, 
touching his shoulder with her hand, “ you must now 
observe my directions, and remain quiet.” 

“True, maiden,” said Ivanhoe, “as quiet as these dis- 
quieted times will permit. And of Cedric and hi§ house- 
hold ?” 


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Ivanhoe 


3H 

“ His steward came but brief while since,” said the 
Jewess, “ panting with haste, to ask my father for certain 
moneys, the price of wool the growth of Cedric’s flocks, 
and from him I learned that Cedric and Athelstane of 
5 Coningsburgh had left Prince John’s lodging in high dis- 
pleasure, and were about to set forth on their return 
homeward.” 

“ Went any lady with them to the banquet?” said Wil- 
fred. 

10 “ The Lady Rowena,” said Rebecca, answering the 

question with more precision than it had been asked — 
“ the Lady Rowena went not to the Prince’s feast, and, 
as the steward reported to us, she is now on her journey 
back to Rotherwood with her guardian Cedric. And 
15 touching your faithful squire Gurth — ” 

“ Ha ! ” exclaimed the knight, “ knowest thou his 
name? But thou dost,” he immediately added, “and well 
thou mayst, for it was from thy hand, and, as I am now 
convinced, from thine own generosity of spirit, that he 
20 received but yesterday a hundred zecchins.” 

“ Speak not of that,” said Rebecca, blushing deeply ; 
“ I see how easy it is for the tongue to betray what the 
heart would gladly conceal.” 

“ But this sum of gold,” said Ivanhoe, gravely, “ my 
25 honor is concerned in repaying it to your father.” 

“ Let it be as thou wilt,” said Rebecca, “ when eight 
days have passed away; but think not, and speak not, 
now of aught that may retard thy recovery.” 

“ Be it so, kind maiden,” said Ivanhoe ; “ I were most 
31 ungrateful to dispute thy commands. But one word of 
the fate of poor Gurth, and I have done with questioning 
thee.” 

“ I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight,” answered the Jew- 
ess, “ that he is in custody by the order of Cedric.” And 
35 then observing the distress which her communication gave 
to Wilfred, she instantly added, “ But the steward Oswald 
said, that if nothing occurred to renew his master’s dis- 
pleasure against him, he was sure that Cedric would 
pardon Gurth, a faithful serf, and one who stood high in 


Ivanhoe 


315 

favor, and who had but committed this error out of the 
love which he bore to Cedric’s son And he said, more- 
over, that he and his comrades, and especially Wamba, 
the Jester, were resolved to warn Gurth to make his es- 
cape by the way, in case Cedric’s ire against him could 
not be mitigated.” 

“ Would to God they may keep their purpose ! ” said 
Ivanhoe ; “ but it seems as if I were destined to bring 
ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindness to me. My 
king, by whom I was honored and distinguished — thou 
seest that the brother most indebted to him is raising his 
arms to grasp his crown; my regard hath brought re- 
straint and trouble on the fairest of her sex; and now my 
father in his mood may slay this poor bondsman, but for 
his love and loyal service to me ! Thou seest, maiden, 
what an ill-fated wretch thou dost labor to assist; be 
wise, and let me go, ere the misfortune which track my 
footsteps like slot-hounds shall involve thee also in their 
pursuit.” 

“ Nay,” said Rebecca, “ thy weakness and thy grief, Sir 
Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of Heaven. 
Thou hast been restored to thy country when it most 
needed the assistance of a strong hand and a true heart, 
and thou hast humbled the pride of thine enemies and 
those of thy king, when their horn was most highly ex- 
alted; and for the evil which thou hast sustained, seest 
thou not that Heaven has raised thee a helper and a phy- 
sician, even among the most despised of the land? 
Therefore, be of good courage, and trust that thou art 
preserved for some marvel which thine arm shall work 
before this people. Adieu; and having taken the medi- 
cine which I shall send thee by the hand of Reuben, com- 
pose thyself again to rest, that thou mayst be the more 
'able to endure the journey on the succeeding day.” 

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed 
the directions, of Rebecca. The draught which Reuben 
administered was of a sedative and narcotic quality, and 
secured the patient sound and undisturbed slumbers. In 
the morning his kind physician found him entirely free 


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35 


3 i 6 Ivanhoe 

from feverish symptoms, and fit to undergo the fatigue of 
a journey. 

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had brought 
him from the lists, and every precaution taken for his 
5 traveling with ease. In one circumstance only even the 
, entreaties of Rebecca were unable to secure sufficient at- 
tention to the accommodation of the wounded knight. 
Isaac, like the enriched traveler of Juvenal’s Tenth Satire, 
had ever the fear of robbery before his eyes, conscious 
10 that he would be alike accounted fair game by the ma- 
rauding Norman noble and by the Saxon outlaw. He 
therefore journeyed at a great rate, and made short halts 
and shorter repasts, so that he passed by Cedric and 
Athelstane, who had several hours the start of him, but 
15 who had been delayed by their protracted feasting at the 
convent of St. Withold’s. Yet such was the virtue of 
Miriam’s balsam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe’s con- 
stitution, that he did not sustain from the hurried jour- 
ney that inconvenience which his kind physician had ap- 
20 prehended. 

In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste 
proved somewhat more than good speed. The rapidity 
with which he insisted on traveling bred several disputes 
between him and the party whom he had hired to attend 
25 him as a guard. These men were Saxons, and not free 
by any means from the national love of ease and good liv- 
ing which the Normans stigmatized as laziness and glut- 
tony. Reversing Shylock’s position, they had accepted 
the employment in hopes of feeding upon the wealthy 
30 Jew, and were very much displeased when they found 
themselves disappointed by the rapidity with which he in- 
sisted on their proceeding. They remonstrated also upon 
the risk of damage to their horses by these forced 
marches. Finally, there arose betwixt Isaac and his satel- 
35 lites a deadly feud concerning the quantity of wine and 
ale to be allowed for consumption at each meal. And 
thus it happened, that when the alarm of danger ap- 
proached, and that which Isaac feared was likely to come 
upon him, he was deserted by the discontented mer- 


Ivanhoe 


3 X 7 

cenaries, on whose protection he had relied without using 
the means necessary to secure their attachment. 

In this deplorable condition, the Jew, with his daugh- 
ter and her wounded patient, were found by Cedric, as has 
already been noticed, and soon afterwards fell into the 5 
power of De Bracy and his confederates. Little notice 
was at first taken of the horse-litter, and it might have 
remained behind but for the curiosity of De Bracy, who 
looked into it under the impression that it might contain 
the object of his enterprise, for Rowena had not unveiled 10 
herself. But De Bracy’s astonishment was considerable 
when he discovered that the litter contained a wounded 
man, who, conceiving himself to have fallen into the 
power of Saxon outlaws, with whom his name might be 
a protection for himself and his friends, frankly avowed 15 
himself to be Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

The ideas of chivalrous honor, which, amidst his wild- 
ness and levity, never utterly abandoned De Bracy, pro- 
hibited him from doing the knight any injury in his de- 
fenseless condition, and equally interdicted his betraying 20 
him to Front-de-Boeuf, who would have had no scruples 
to put to death, under any circumstances, the rival claim- 
ant of the fief of Ivanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate 
a suitor preferred by the Lady Rowena, as the events of 
the tournament, and indeed Wilfred’s previous banish- 25 
ment from his father’s house, had made matter of noto- 
riety, was a pitch far above the flight of De Bracy’s gen- 
erosity. A middle course betwixt good and evil was all 
which he found himself capable of adopting, and he com- 
manded two of his own squires to keep close by the litter, 30 
and to suffer no one to approach it. If questioned, they 
were directed by their master to say that the empty litter 
of the Lady Rowena was employed to transport one of 
their comrades who had been wounded in the scuffle. On 
arriving at Torquilstone, while the Knight Templar and 35 
the lord of that castle were each intent upon their own 
schemes, the one on the Jew’s treasure, and the other on 
his daughter, De Bracy’s squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still 
under the name of a wounded comrade, to a distant apart- 


Ivanhoe 


3i8 

ment. This explanation was accordingly returned by 
these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when he questioned them 
why they did not make for the battlements upon the 
alarm. 

5 “A wounded companion ! ” he replied in great wrath 
and astonishment. “ No wonder that churls and yeomen 
wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before cas- 
tles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances to 
nobles, since men-at-arms have turned sick men’s nurses, 
10 and Free Companions are grown keepers of dying folks’ 
curtains, when the castle is about to be assailed. To the 
battlements, ye loitering villains ! ” he exclaimed, raising 
his stentorian voice till the arches around rung again — 
“ to the battlements, or I will splinter your bones with 
15 this truncheon ! ” 

The men sulkily replied, “ That they desired nothing 
better than to go to the battlements, providing Front-de- 
Boeuf would bear them out with their master, who had 
commanded them to tend the dying man.” 

.20 “The dying man, knaves!” rejoined the baron; “I 
promise thee, we shall all be dying men an we stand not 
to it the more stoutly. But I will relieve the guard upon 
this caitiff companion of yours. Here, Urfried — hag — 
fiend of a Saxon witch — hearest me not ? Tend me 
25 this bedridden fellow, since he must needs be tended, 
whilst these knaves use their weapons. Here be two 
arblasts, comrades, with windlaces and quarrels — to the 
barbican with you, and see you drive each bolt through a 
Saxon brain.” 

30 The men, who, like most of their description, were 
fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to 
the scene of danger as they were commanded, and thus 
the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried, cr 
Ulrica. But she, whose brain was burning with remem- 
35 brance of injuries and with hopes of vengeance, was 
readily induced to devolve upon Rebecca the care of her 
patient. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier. 

Look on the field, and say how goes the battle. 

Schiller’s Maid of Orleans. 

A moment of peril is often also a moment of open- 
hearted kindness and affection. We are thrown off our 
guard by the general agitation of our feelings, and betray 
the intensity of those which, at more tranquil periods, 
our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether 
suppress them. In finding herself once more by the side 
of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensa- 
tion of pleasure which she experienced, even at a time 
when all around them both was danger, if not despair. 
As she felt his pulse, and inquired after his health, there 
was a softness in her touch and in her accents, implying 
a kinder interest than she would herself have been 
pleased to have voluntarily expressed. Her voice faltered 
and her hand trembled, and it was only the cold question 
of Ivanhoe, “ Is it you, gentle maiden ? ” which recalled 
her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which she 
felt were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, 
but it was scarce audible; and the questions which she 
asked the knight concerning his state of health were put 
in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her 
hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, and better, 
than he could have expected. “ Thanks,” he said, “ dear 
Rebecca, to thy helpful skill.” 

“ He calls me dear Rebecca,” said the maiden to her- 
self, “ but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill 
suits the word. His war-horse, his hunting hound, are 
dearer to him than the despised Jewess ! ” 

“ My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “ is 
more disturbed by anxiety than my body with pain. From* 

3i9 


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Ivanhoe 


3 20 

the speeches of these men who were my warders just 
now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright 
of the loud hoarse voice which even now despatched them 
hence on some military duty, I am in the castle of Front- 
5 de-Boeuf. If so, how will this end, or how can I protect 
Rowena and my father ? ” 

“ He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca, in- 
ternally; “yet what is our portion in him, and how justly 
am I punished by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell 
10 upon him ! ” She hastened after this brief self-accusa- 
tion to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but it 
amounted only to this,- that the Templar Bois-Guilbert 
and the Baron Front-de-Boeuf were commanders within 
the castle; that it was beleaguered from without, but by 
15 whom she knew not. She added, that there was a Chris- 
tian priest within the castle who might be possessed of 
more information. 

“A Christian priest! ” said the knight, joyfully; “ fetch 
him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst. Say a sick man de- 
20 sires his ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, but bring 
him; something I must do or attempt, but how can I de- 
termine until I know how matters stand without?” 

Rebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, 
made that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded 
25 knight’s chamber which was defeated, as we have already 
seen, by the interference of Urfried, who had been also 
on the watch to intercept the supposed monk. Rebecca 
retired to communicate to Ivanhoe the result of her er- 
rand. 

30 They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this 
source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it 
might be supplied; for the noise within the castle occa- 
sioned by the defensive preparations, which had been 
considerable for some time, now increased into tenfold 
35 bustle and clamor. The heavy yet hasty step of the men- 
at-arms traversed the battlements, or resounded on the 
narrow and winding passages and stairs which led to the 
various bartizans and points of defense. The voices of 
the knights were heard, animating their followers, or di- 


Ivanhoe 


3 21 

recting means of defense, while their commands were 
often drowmed in the clashing of armor, or the clamorous 
shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous, as 
these sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful 
event which they presaged, there was a sublimity mixed 
with them which Rebecca’s high-toned mind could feel 
even in that moment of terror. Her eye kindled, al- 
though the blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a 
strong mixture of fear, and of a thrilling sense of the 
sublime, as she repeated, half-whispering to herself, half- 
speaking to her companion, the sacred text — “ The quiver 
rattleth — the glittering spear and the shield — the noise 
of the captains and the shouting ! ” 

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime 
passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and 
with his ardent desire to mingle in the affray of which 
these sounds were the introduction. “ If I could but drag 
myself,” he said, “ to yonder window, that I might see 
how this brave game is like to go ! If I had but bow to 
shoot a shaft, or battle-ax to strike were it but a single 
blow for our deliverance ! It is in vain — it is in vain — 
I am alike nerveless and weaponless ! ” 

“ Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, 
“ the sounds have ceased of a sudden ; it may be they 
join not battle.” 

“ Thou knowest naught of it,” said Wilfred, impa- 
tiently ; “ this dead pause only shows that the men are 
at their posts on the walls, and expecting an instant at- 
tack; what we have heard was but the distant muttering 
of the storm ; it will burst anon in all its fury. Could I 
but reach yonder window ! ” 

“ Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble 
knight,” replied his attendant. Observing his extreme 
solicitude, she firmly added, “ I myself will stand at the 
lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes with- 
out.” 

“ You must not — you shall not ! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 
“ Each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the 
archers; some random shaft — ” 


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“ It shall be welcome ! ” murmured Rebecca, as with 
firm pace she ascended two or three steps, which led to 
the window of which they spoke. 

“ Rebecca — dear Rebecca ! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “ this 
5 is no maiden’s pastime; do not expose thyself to wounds 
and death, and render me forever miserable for having 
given the occasion; at least, cover thyself with yonder 
ancient buckler, and show as little of your person at the 
lattice as may be.” 

10 Following with wonderful promptitude the directions 
of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the 
large ancient shield, which she placed against the lower 
part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security to 
herself, could witness part of what was passing without 
15 the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which 
the assailants were making for the storm. Indeed, the 
situation which she thus obtained was peculiarly favor- 
able for this purpose, because, being placed on an angle 
of the main building, Rebecca could not only see what 
20 passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also com- 
manded a view of the outwork likely to be the first object 
of the meditated assault. It was an exterior fortification 
of no great height or strength, intended to protect the 
postern-gate, through which Cedric had been recently 
25 dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided 
this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so 
that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the 
communication with the main building, by withdrawing 
the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sallyport 
30 corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole 
was surrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca could ob- 
serve, from the number of men placed for the defense of 
this post, that the besieged entertained apprehensions 
for its safety; and from the mustering of the assailants 
35 in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed 
no less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable 
point of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivan- 
hoe, and added, “ The skirts of the wood seem lined with 


Ivanhoe 


3 2 3 

archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark 
shadow.” 

“Under what banner?” asked Ivanhoe. 

“ Under no ensign of war which I can observe,” an- 
swered Rebecca. 

“ A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “ to advance 
to storm such a castle without pennon or banner dis- 
played ! Seest thou who they be that act as leaders ? ” 

“ A knight, clad in sable armor, is the most conspicu- 
ous,” said the Jewess ; “ he alone is armed from head to 
heel, and seems to assume the direction of all around 
him.” 

“ What device does he bear on his shield ? ” replied 
Ivanhoe. 

“ Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock 
painted blue on the black shield.” 

“ A fetterlock and shackle-bolt azure,” said Ivanhoe ; 
“ I know not who may bear the device, but well I ween 
it might now be mine own. Canst thou not see the 
motto ? ” 

“ Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied Re- 
becca; “but when the sun glances fair upon his shield it 
shows as I tell you.” 

“ Seem there no other leaders ? ” exclaimed the anxious 
inquirer. 

“ None of mark and distinction that I can behold from 
this station,” said Rebecca; “but doubtless the other side 
of the castle is also assailed. They appear even now pre- 
paring to advance — God of Zion protect us ! What a 
dreadful sight ! Those who advance first bear huge 
shields and defenses made of plank; the others follow, 
bending their bows as they come on. They raise their 
bows ! God of Moses, forgive the creatures Thou hast 
made ! ” 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the 
signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill 
bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the Norman 
trumpets from the battlements, which, mingled with the 
deep and hollow clang of the nakers (a species of kettle- 


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Ivanhoe 


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drum), retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of the 
enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fear- 
ful din, the assailants crying, “ St. George for merry 
England ! ” and the Normans answering them with loud 
5 cries of “ En avant De Bracy ! Beau-seant ! Beau- 
seant! Front-de-Boeuf d la rescousse ! ” according to the 
war-cries of their different commanders. 

It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was 
to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants 
10 were met by an equally vigorous defense on the* part of 
the besieged. The archers trained by their woodland 
pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, 
to use the appropriate phrase of the time, so “ wholly 
together,” that no point at which a defender could show 
15 the least part of his person escaped their clothyard shafts. 
By this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and 
sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow had 
its individual aim, and flew by scores together against 
each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as 
20 at every window where a defender either occasionally 
had post, or might be suspected to be stationed — by this 
sustained discharge, two or three of the garrison were 
slain and several others wounded. But, confident in their 
armor of proof, and in the cover which their situation 
25 afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf and his allies 
showed an obstinacy in defense proportioned to the fury 
of the attack, and replied with the discharge of their large 
cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and 
other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower 
30 of arrows; and, as the assailants were necessarily but in- 
differently protected, did considerably more damage than 
they received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts and 
of missiles on both sides was only interrupted by the 
shouts which arose when either side inflicted or sustained 
35 some notable loss. 

“ And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” ex- 
claimed Ivanhoe, “ while the game that gives me freedom 
or death is played out by the hand of others ! Look from 
the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that you 


Ivanhoe 


325 

are not marked by the archers beneath. Look out once 
more, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm.” 

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval 
which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca 
again took post at the lattice* sheltering herself, however, 
so as not to be visible from beneath. 

“ What dost thou see, Rebecca ? ” again demanded the 
wounded knight. 

“ Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as 
to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot 
them.” 

“ That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe ; “ if they press 
not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, 
the archery may avail but little against stone walls and 
bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair 
Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader 
is, so will his followers be.” 

“ I see him not,” said Rebecca. 

“ Foul craven ! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe ; “ does he blench 
from the helm when the wind blows highest?” 

“ He blenches not ! — he blenches not ! ” said Rebecca, 
“ I see him now ; he leads a body of men close under the 
outer barrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles 
and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. 
His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like 
a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach 
in the barriers — they rush in — they are thrust back ! 
Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders ; I see his gigantic 
form above the press. They throng again to the breach, 
and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. 
God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides — the 
conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds ! ” 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable 
longer to endure a sight so terrible. 

“ Look forth again, Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mistaking 
the cause of her retiring; “the archery must in some 
degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to 
hand. Look again, there is now less danger.” 

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately 


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ivannoe 


320 

exclaimed, “Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf 
and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, 
amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress 
of the strife. Heaven strike with the cause of the op- 
5 pressed and of the captive ! ” She then uttered a loud 
shriek, and exclaimed, “ He is down ! — he is down ! ” 

“ Who is down? ” cried Ivanhoe; “ for our dear Lady’s 
sake, tell me which has fallen ? ” 

“ The Black Knight,” answered Rebecca, faintly ; then 
10 instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness — “But no 
• — but no ! the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed ! he 
is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men’s 
strength in his single arm. His sword is broken — he 
snatches an ax from a yeoman — he presses Front-de- 
15 Boeuf with blow on blow. The giant stoops and totters 
like an oak under the steel of the woodman — he falls — 
he falls ! ” 

“ Front-de-Bceuf ? ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“ Front-de-Bceuf,” answered the Jewess. “ His men 
20 rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar; their 
united force compels the champion to pause. They drag 
Front-de-Boeuf within the walls.” 

“ The assailants have won the barriers, have they not ? ” 
said Ivanhoe. 

25 “ They have — they have ! ” exclaimed Rebecca ; “ and 

they press the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some 
plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavor to 
ascend upon the shoulders of each other; down go stones, 
beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast 
30 as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply 
their places in the assault. Great God ! hast Thou given 
men Thine own image that it should be thus cruelly de- 
faced by the hands of their brethren ! ” 

“ Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe ; “ this is no 
35 time for such thoughts. Who yield? who push their 
way ? ” 

“ The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca, shud- 
dering; “the soldiers lie groveling under them like 
crushed reptiles. The besieged have the better.” 


Ivanhoe 


327 

“ St. George strike for us ! ” exclaimed the knight ; “ do 
the false yeomen give way ? ” 

“ No ! ” exclaimed Rebecca, “ they bear themselves 
right yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the pos- 
tern with his huge ax; the thundering blows which he 5 
deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of 
the battle. Stones and beams are hailed down on the 
bold champion : he regards them no more than if they 
were thistle-down or feathers ! ” 

“ By St. John of Acre,” said Ivanhoe, raising himself 10 
joyfully on his couch, “ methought there was but one 
man in England that might do such a deed ! ” 

“ The postern gate shakes,” continued Rebecca — “ it 
crashes — it is splintered by his blows — they rush in — 
the outwork is won. O God ! they hurl the defenders 15 
from the battlements — they throw them into the moat. 

O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no 
longer ! ” 

“ The bridge — the bridge which communicates with the 
castle — have they won that pass ? ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 20 
“No,” replied Rebecca; “the Templar has destroyed 
the plank on which they crossed; few of the defenders 
escaped with him into the castle — the shrieks and cries 
which you hear tell the fate of the others. Alas ! I see 
it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon 25 
battle.” 

“What* do they now, maiden?” said Ivanhoe; “look 
forth yet again — this is no time to faint at bloodshed.” 

“ It is over for the time,” answered Rebecca ; “ our 
friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which 30 
they have mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter 
from the foemen’s shot that the garrison only bestow a 
few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather to 
disquiet than effectually to injure them.” 

“ Our friends,” said Wilfred, “ will surely not abandon 35 
an enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained. 

Oh, no ! I will put my faith in the good knight whose ax 
hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron. Singular,” he 
again muttered to himself, “ if there be two who can do 


Ivanhoe 


328 

a deed of such derring-do ! A fetterlock, and a shackle- 
bolt on a field sable — what may that mean ? Seest thou 
naught else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knight may be 
distinguished? ” 

5 “Nothing,” said the Jewess; “all about him is black 
as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that 
can mark him further ; but having once seen him put forth 
his strength in battle, methinks I could know him again 
among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if 
10 he were summoned to a banquet. There is more than 
mere strength — there seems as if the whole soul and 
spirit of the champion were given to every blow which 
he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin 
of bloodshed ! It is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold 
15 how the arm and heart of one man can triumph over 
hundreds.” 

“ Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, “ thou hast painted a hero ; 
surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide 
the means of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as 
20 thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven 
fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant 
emprize, since the difficulties which render it arduous 
render it also glorious. I swear by the honor of my 
house — I vow by the name of my bright lady-love, I 
25 would endure ten years’ captivity to fight one day by that 
good knight’s side in such a quarrel as this ! ” 

“ Alas ! ” said Rebecca, leaving her station at the win- 
dow, and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, 
“this impatient yearning after action — this struggling 
30 with and repining at your present weakness, will not fail 
to injure your returning health. How couldst thou hope 
to inflict wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou 
thyself hast received ? ” 

“ Rebecca,” he replied, “ thou knowest not how im- 
35 possible it is for one trained to actions of chivalry to re- 
main passive as a priest, or a woman, when they are 
acting deeds of honor around him. The love of battle 
is the food upon which we live — the dust of the melee 
is the breath of our nostrils ! We live not — we wish not 


Ivanhoe 


329 


to live — longer than while we are victorious and re- 
nowned. Such, maiden, are the laws of chivalry to 
which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that we 
hold dear.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the fair Jewess, “ and what is it, valiant 
knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain 
glory, and a passing through the fire to Moloch? What 
remains to you as the prize of all the blood you have 
spilled, of all the travail and pain you have endured, of 
all the tears which your deeds have caused, when death 
hath broken the strong man’s spear, and overtaken the 
speed of his war-horse ? ” 

“ What remains ? ” cried Ivanhoe. “ Glory, maiden — 
glory ! which gilds our sepulcher and embalms our 
name.” 

“ Glory ! ” continued Rebecca ; “ alas ! is the rusted 
mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion’s 
dim and moldering tomb, is the defaced sculpture of 
the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read 
to the inquiring pilgrim — are these sufficient rewards 
for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a life spent 
miserably that ye may make others miserable? Or is 
there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering 
bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and 
happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of 
those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken 
churls over their evening ale ? ” 

“ By the soul of Hereward ! ” replied the knight, im- 
patiently, “ thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not 
what. Thou wouldst quench the pure light of chivalry, 
which alone distinguishes the noble from the base, the 
gentle knight from the churl and the savage; which rates 
our life far, far beneath the pitch of our honor, raises us 
victorious over pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us 
to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Re- 
becca; and to thee are unknown those high feelings 
which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover 
hath done some deed of emprize which sanctions his 
flame. Chivalry ! Why, maiden, she is the nurse of 


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pure and high affection, the stay of the oppressed, the 
redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the 
tyrant. Nobility were but an empty name without her, 
and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and her 
5 sword.” . 

“ I am, indeed,” said Rebecca, “ sprung from a race 
whose courage was distinguished in the defense of their 
own land, but who warred not, even while yet a nation, 
save at the command of the Deity, or in defending their 
10 country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet 
wakes Judah no longer, and her despised children are 
now but the unresisting victims of hostile and military 
oppression. Well hast thou spoken, Sir Knight: until the 
God of Jacob shall raise up for His chosen people a 
15 second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the 
Jewish damsel to speak of battle or of war.” 

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a 
tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of the 
degradation of her people, embittered perhaps by the 
20 idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one not entitled to 
interfere in a case of honor, and incapable of enter- 
taining or expressing sentiments of honor and gener- 
osity. 

“ How little he knows this bosom,” she said, “ to im- 
25 agine that cowardice or meanness of soul must needs be 
its guests, because I have censured the fantastic chivalry 
of the Nazarenes ! Would to Heaven that the shedding 
of mine own blood, drop by drop, could redeem the cap- 
tivity of Judah ! Nay, would to God it could avail to 
30 set free my father, and this his benefactor, from the 
chains of the oppressor ! The proud Christian should 
then see whether the daughter of God’s chosen people 
dared not to die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene 
maiden, that boasts her descent from some petty chief- 
35 tain of the rude and frozen north ! ” 

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded 
knight. 

“ He sleeps,” she said ; “ nature exhausted by suffer- 
ance and the waste of spirits, his wearied frame em- 


Ivanhoe 


33i 

braces the first moment of temporary relaxation to sink 
into slumber. Alas ! is it a crime that I should look 
upon him, when it may be for the last time? When yet 
but a short space, and those fair features will be no 
longer animated by the bold and buoyant spirit which 
forsakes them not even in sleep ! When the nostril shall 
be distended, the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and blood- 
shot ; and when the proud and noble knight may be 
trodden on by the lowest caitiff of this accursed castle, 
yet stir not when the heel is lifted up against him ! 
And my father ! — oh, my father ! evil is it with his 
daughter, when his gray hairs are not remembered because 
of the golden locks of youth ! What know I but that 
these evils are the messengers of Jehovah’s wrath to 
the unnatural child who thinks of a stranger’s captivity 
before a parent’s? who forgets the desolation of Judah, 
and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile and a stran- 
ger? But I will tear this folly from my heart, though 
every fiber bleed as I rend it away ! ” 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down 
at a distance from the couch of the wounded knight, 
with her back turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavor- 
ing to fortify, her mind not only against the impending 
evils from without, but also against those treacherous 
feelings which assailed her from within. 


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CHAPTER XXX 


Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, 

Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 

’Mid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dew, 

Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and tears ! 
Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play. 

During the interval of quiet which followed the first 
success of the besiegers, while the one party was pre- 
paring to pursue their advantage and the other to 
strengthen their means of defense, the Templar and 
5 De Bracy held brief counsel together in the hall of the 
castle. 

“Where is Front-de-Boeuf ? ” said the latter, who had 
superintended the defense of the fortress on the other 
side ; “ men say he hath been slain.” 

10 “He lives,” said the Templar, coolly — “lives as yet; 
but had he worn the bull’s head of which he bears the 
name, and ten plates of iron to fence it withal, he must 
have gone down before yonder fatal ax. Yet a few 
hours, and Front-de-Boeuf is with his fathers — a pow- 
15 erful limb lopped off Prince John’s enterprise.” 

“ And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,” 
said De Bracy; “ this comes of reviling saints and angels, 
and ordering images of holy things and holy men to be 
flung down on the heads of these rascaille yeomen.” 

20 “ Go to, thou art a fool,” said the Templar ; “ thy 

superstition is upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf ’s want 
of faith; neither of you can render a reason for your 
belief or unbelief.” 

“ Bcnedicite, Sir Templar,” replied De Bracy, “I pray 
332 


Ivanhoe 


333 

you to keep better rule with your tongue when I am the 
theme of it. By the Mother of Heaven, I am a better 
Christian man than thou and thy fellowship; for the 
bruit goeth shrewdly out, that the most holy order of 
the Temple of Zion nurseth not a few heretics within its 
bosom, and that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is of the num- 
ber.” 

“ Care not thou for such reports,” said the Templar ; 
“ but let us think of making good the castle. How fought 
these villain yeomen on thy side ? ” 

“ Like fiends incarnate,” said De Bracy. “ They 
swarmed close up to the walls, headed, as I think, by 
the knave who won the prize at the archery, for I knew 
his horn and baldric. And this is old Fitzurse’s boasted 
policy, encouraging these malapert knaves to rebel against 
us ! Had I not been armed in proof, the villain had 
marked me down seven times with as little remorse 
as if I had been a buck in season. He told every rivet 
on my armor with a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped against 
my ribs with as little compunction as if my bones had 
been of iron. But that I wore a shirt of Spanish mail 
under my plate-coat, I had been fairly sped.” 

“But you maintained your post?” said the Templar. 
“ We lost the outwork on our part.” 

“That is a shrewd loss,” said De Bracy; “the knaves 
will find cover there to assault the castle more closely, 
and may, if not well watched, gain some unguarded cor- 
ner of a tower, or some forgotten window, and so break 
in upon us. Our numbers are too few for the defense of 
every point, and the men complain that they can nowhere 
show themselves, but they are the mark for as many 
arrows as a parish-butt on a holyday even. Front-de- 
Bceuf is dying too, so we shall receive no more aid from 
his bull’s head and brutal strength. How think you, 
Sir Brian, were we not better make a virtue of necessity, 
and compound with the rogues by delivering up our 
prisoners? ” 

“ How ! ” exclaimed the Templar ; “ deliver up our 
prisoners, and stand an object alike of ridicule and execra- 


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tion, as the doughty warriors who dared by a night- 
attack to possess themselves of the persons of a party 
of defenseless travelers, yet could not make good a • 
strong castle against a vagabond troop of outlaws, led 
5 by swineherds,* jesters, and the very refuse of mankind? 
Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de Bracy ! The ruins of 
this castle shall bury both my body and my shame, ere I < 
consent to such base and dishonorable composition.” 

“Let us to the walls, then,” said De Bracy, carelessly; 

10 “ that man nevej* breathed, be he Turk or Templar, who 
held life at lighter rate than I do. But I trust there is j 
no dishonor in wishing I had here some two scores of ; 
my gallant troop of Free Companions? Oh, my brave : 
lances ! if ye knew but how hard your captain were this 
15 day bested, how soon should I see my banner at the head 
of your clump of spears ! And how short while would i 
these rabble villains stand to endure your encounter ! ” 

“ Wish for whom thou wilt,” said the Templar, “ but 
let us make what defense we can with the soldiers who 
20 remain. They are chiefly Front-de-Boeuf’s followers, 
hated by the English for a thousand acts of insolence 
and oppression.” 

“ The better,” said De Bracy ; “ the rugged slaves will 1 
defend themselves to the last drop of their blood, ere < 
25 they encounter the revenge of the peasants without, .i 
Let us up and be doing, then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; § 
and, live or die, thou shalt see Maurice de Bracy bear * 
himself this day as a gentleman of blood and lineage.” 

“To the walls!” answered the Templar; and they • 
30 both ascended the battlements to do all that skill could $ 
dictate, and manhood accomplish, in defense of the place. 1 
They readily agreed that the point of greatest danger 1 
was that opposite to the outwork of which the assailants K 
had possessed themselves. The castle, indeed, was di- • 
35 vided from that barbican by the moat, and it was im- 
possible that the besiegers could assail the postern door, 
with which the outwork corresponded, without surmount- 4 
ing that obstacle; but it was the opinion both of the 1 
Templar and De Bracy that the besiegers, if governed by 


Ivanhoe 


335 

the same policy their leader had already displayed, would 
endeavor, by a formidable assault, to draw the chief 
part of the defenders’ observation to this point, and take 
measures to avail themselves of every negligence which 
might take place in the defense elsewhere. To guard 
against such an evil, their numbers only permitted the 
knights to place sentinels from space to space along the 
walls in communication with each other, who might give 
the alarm whenever danger was threatened. Meanwhile, 
they agreed that De Bracy should command the de- 
fense at the postern, and the Templar should keep with 
him a score of men or thereabouts as a body of reserve, 
ready to hasten to any other point which might be sud- 
denly threatened. The loss of the barbican had also 
this unfortunate effect, that, notwithstanding the superior 
height of the castle walls, the besieged could not see 
from them, with the same precision as before, the opera- 
tions of the enemy; for some straggling underwood ap- 
proached so near the sallyport of the outwork that the 
assailants might introduce into it whatever force they 
thought proper, not only under cover, but even without 
the knowledge of the defenders. Utterly uncertain, 
therefore, upon what point the storm was to burst, De 
Bracy and his companion were under the necessity of 
providing against every possible contingency, and their 
followers, however brave, experienced the anxious de- 
jection of mind incident to men inclosed by enemies, who 
possessed the power of choosing their time and mode of 
attack. 

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered 
castle lay upon a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. 
He had not the usual resource of bigots in that super- 
stitious period, most of whom were wont to atone for 
the crimes they were guilty of by liberality to the church, 
stupefying by this means their terrors by the idea of 
atonement and forgiveness; and although the refuge 
which success thus purchased was no more like to the 
peace of mind which follows on sincere repentance than 


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Ivanhoe 


33 6 

the turbid stupefaction procured by opium resembles 
healthy and natural slumbers, it was still a state of mind 
preferable to the agonies of awakened remorse. But 
among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, a hard and griping 
5 man, avarice ‘was predominant; and he preferred setting 
church and churchmen at defiance to purchasing from 
them pardon and absolution at the price of treasure and 
of manors. Nor did the Templar, an infidel of another 
stamp, justly characterize his associate when he said 
10 Front-de-Bceuf could assign no cause for his unbelief and 
contempt for the established faith; for the baron would 
have alleged that the church sold her wares too dear, that 
the spiritual freedom which she put up to sale was only 
to be bought, like that of the chief captain of Jerusalem, 
15 “ with a great sum,” and Front-de-Bceuf preferred deny- 
ing the virtue of the medicine to paying the expense of 
the physician. 

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his 
treasures were gliding from before his eyes, and when the 
20 savage baron’s heart, though hard as a nether millstone, 
became appalled as he gazed forward into the waste dark- 
ness of futurity. The fever of his body aided the im- 
patience and agony of his mind, and his death-bed ex- 
hibited a mixture of the newly-awakened feelings of hor- 
25 ror combating with the fixed and inveterate obstinacy 
of his disposition — a fearful state of mind, only to be 
equaled in those tremendous regions where there are 
complaints without hope, remorse without repentance, a 
dreadful sense of present agony, and a presentiment that 
30 it cannot cease or be diminished ! 

“ Where be these dog-priests now,” growled the baron, 
“who set such price on their ghostly mummery? — 
where be all those unshod Carmelites, for whom old 
Front-de-Boeuf founded the convent of St. Anne, robbing 
35 his heir of many a fair rood of meadow, and many a fat 
field and close — where be the greedy hounds now ? 
Swilling, I warrant me, at the ale, or playing their jug- 
gling tricks at the bedside of some miserly churl. Me, 
the heir of their founder — me, whom their foundation 


Ivanhoe 


337 

binds them to pray for — me — ungrateful villains as 
they are ! — they suffer to die like the houseless dog on 
yonder common, unshriven and unhouseled ! Tell the 
Templar to come hither; he is a priest, and may do 
something. But no ! as well confess myself to the devil g 
as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who recks neither of 
Heaven nor of Hell. I have . heard old men talk of 
prayer — prayer by their own voice — such need not to 
court or to bribe the false priest. But I — I dare not ! ” 

“ Lives Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said a broken and 10 
shrill voice close by his bedside, “ to say there is that 
which he dares not? ” 

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front- 
de-Boeuf heard, in this strange interruption to his so- 
liloquy, the voice of one of those demons who, as the 15 
superstition of the times believed, beset the beds of dying 
men, to distract their thoughts, and turn them from the 
meditations which concerned their eternal welfare. He 
shuddered and drew himself together; but, instantly sum- 
moning up his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, “ Who is 20 
there? what art thou, that darest to echo my words in a 
tone like that of the night-raven? Come before my 
couch that I may see thee.” 

“ I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” re- 
plied the voice. 25 

“ Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou 
be’st indeed a fiend,” replied the dying knight; “think 
not that I will blench from thee. By the eternal dun- 
geon, could I but grapple with these horrors that hover 
round me as I have done with mortal dangers, Heaven 30 
or Hell should never say that I shrunk from the con- 
flict ! ” 

“ Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said 
the almost unearthly voice — “ on rebellion, on rapine, 
on murder! Who stirred up the licentious John to war 35 
against his gray-headed father — against his generous 
brother? ” 

“ Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de- 
Boeuf, “ thou liest in thy throat ! Not I stirred John to 


Ivanhoe 


338 

rebellion — not I alone; there were fifty knights and 
barons, the flower of the midland counties, better men 
never laid lance in rest. And must I answer for the 
fault done by fifty? False fiend, I defy thee! Depart, 
5 and haunt my couch no more. Let me die in peace if 
thou be mortal; if thou be a demon, thy time is not yet 
come.” 

“ In peace thou shalt not die,” repeated the voice ; 
“even in death shalt thou think on thy murders — on 
10 the groans which this castle has echoed — on the blood 
that is engrained in its floors ! ” 

“ Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” an- 
swered Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained 
laugh. “ The infidel Jew — it was merit with Heaven 
15 to deal with him as I did, wherefore are men canonized 
who dip their hands in the blood of Saracens ? The Saxon 
porkers whom I have slain — they were the foes of my 
country, and of my lineage, and of my liege lord. Ho ! ho ! 
thou seest there is no crevice in my coat of plate. Art 
20 thou fled ? art thou silenced ? ” 

“No, foul parricide!” replied the voice; “think of 
thy father ! — think of his death ! — think of his ban- 
quet-room flooded with his gore, and that poured forth 
by the hand of a son ! ” 

25 “ Ha ! ” answered the Baron, after a long pause, “ an 

thou knowest that, thou art indeed the Author of Evil, 
and as omniscient as the monks call thee! That secret 
I deemed locked in my own breast, and in that of one 
besides — the temptress, the partaker of my guilt. Go, 
30 leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who 
alone could tell thee what she and I alone witnessed. 
Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds, and straighted 
the corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward show 
of one parted in time and in the course of nature. Go to 
35 her; she was my temptress, the foul provoker, the more 
foul rewarder, of the deed; let her, as well as I, taste of 
the tortures which anticipate Hell ! ” 

“ She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping be- 
fore the couch of Front-de-Boeuf : “ she hath long drunken 


Ivanhoe 


339 

of this cup, and its bitterness is now sweetened to see that 
thou dost partake it. Grind not thy teeth, Front-de- 
Bceuf — roll not thine eyes — clench not thy hand, nor 
shake it at me with that gesture of menace ! The hand 
which, like that of thy renowned ancestor who gained 5 
thy name, could have broken with one stroke the skull 
of a mountain-bull, is now unnerved and powerless as 
mine own ! ” 

“ Vile, murderous hag ! ” replied Front-de-Boeuf — 

“ detestable screech-owl ! it is then thou who art come to 10 
exult over the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low ? ” 

“Aye, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “it is 
Ulrica! — it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil 
Wolfganger! — it is the sister of his slaughtered sons! 
it is she who demands of thee, and of thy father’s house, 15 
father and kindred, name and fame — all that she has 
lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf ! Think of my 
wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer me if I speak not 
truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be 
thine: I will dog thee till the very instant of dissolu- 20 
tion ! ” 

“ Detestable fury ! ” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “ that 
moment shalt thou never witness. Ho ! Giles, Clement, 
and Eustace ! St. Maur and Stephen ! seize this damned 
witch, and hurl her from the battlements headlong; she 25 
has betrayed us to the Saxon ! Ho ! St. Maur ! Clement ! 
false-hearted knaves, where tarry ye ? ” 

“ Call on them again, valiant baron,” said the hag, with 
a smile of grisly mockery; “summon thy vassals around 
thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge and the so 
dungeon. But know, mighty chief,” she continued, sud- 
denly changing her tone, “ thou shalt have neither an- 
swer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands. Listen to 
these horrid sounds,” for the din of the recommenced 
i assault and defense now rung fearfully loud from the 35 
battlements of the castle ; “ in that war-cry is the down- 
fall of thy house. The blood-cemented fabric of Front- 
de-Boeuf’s power totters to the foundation, and before 
the foes he most despised ! The Saxon, Reginald ! — 


Ivanhoe 


340 

the scorned Saxon assails thy walls ! Why liest thou 
here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon storms thy 
place of strength?” 

“ Gods and fiends ! ” exclaimed the wounded knight. 
5 “ O, for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the 
melee, and perish as becomes my name ! ” 

“ Think not of it, valiant warrior ! ” replied she ; “ thou 
shalt die no soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in 
his den, when the peasants have set fire to the cover 
10 around it.” 

“Hateful hag! thou liest!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf ; 
“ my followers bear them bravely — my walls are strong 
and high — my comrades in arms fear not a whole host of 
Saxons, were they headed by Hengist and Horsa ! The 
15 war-cry of the Templar and of the Free Companions 
rises high over the conflict ! And by mine honor, when 
we kindle the blazing beacon for joy of our defense, it shall 
consume thee, body and bones; and I shall live to hear 
thou art gone from earthly fires to those of that Hell 
20 which never sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly 
diabolical ! ” 

“ Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, “ till the proof 
reach thee. But no ! ” she said, interrupting herself, 
“ thou shalt know even now the doom which all thy 
25 power, strength, and courage is unable to avoid, though 
it is prepared for thee by this feeble hand. Markest 
thou the smoldering and suffocating vapor which 
already eddies in sable folds through the chamber? 
Didst thou think it was but the darkening 01 thy burst- 
30 ing eyes, the difficulty of thy cumbered breathing? No! 
Front-de-Boeuf, there is another cause. Rememberest 
thou the magazine of fuel that is stored beneath these 
apartments ? ” 

“ Woman ! ” he exclaimed with fury, “ thou hast not 
35 set fire to it? By Heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in 
flames ! ” 

“ They are fast rising at least,” said Ulrica, with 
frightful composure; “and a signal shall soon wave to 
warn the besiegers to press hard upon those who 


Ivanhoe 


34i 

would extinguish them. Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf ! May 
Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the ancient 
Saxons — fiends, as the priests now call them — supply 
the place of comforters at your dying bed, which Ulrica 
now relinquishes ! But know, if it will give thee com- 
fort to know it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark 
coast with thyself, the companion of thy punishment as 
the companion of thy guilt. And now, parricide, fare- 
well forever ! May each stone of this vaulted roof find 
a tongue to echo that title into thine ear ! ” 

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Bceuf 
could hear the crash of the ponderous key as she locked 
and double-locked the door behind her, thus cutting off 
the most slender chance of escape. In the extremity of 
agony, he shouted upon his servants and allies — “ Stephen 
and St. Maur ! Clement and Giles ! I burn here unaided ! 
To the rescue — to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, val- 
iant De Bracy ! It is Front-de-Boeuf who calls! It is 
your master, ye traitor squires. Your ally — your 
brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights ! All 
the curses due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do 
you abandon me to perish thus miserably ! They hear 
me not — they cannot hear me — my voice is lost in the 
din of battle. The smoke rolls thicker and thicker, the 
fire has caught upon the floor below. O, for one draught 
of the air of heaven, were it to be purchased by instant 
annihilation ! ” And in the mad frenzy of despair, the 
wretch now shouted with the shouts of the fighters, now 
muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and on Heaven 
itself. “ The red fire flashes through the thick smoke ! ” 
he exclaimed ; “ the demon marches against me under 
the banner of his own element. Foul spirit, avoid ! I go 
not with thee without my comrades — all, all are thine 
that garrison these walls. Thinkest thou Front-de-Boeuf 
will be singled out to go alone? No; the infidel Templar, 
the licentious De Bracy, Ulrica, the foul murdering 
strumpet, the men who aided my enterprises, the dog 
Saxons and accursed Jews who are my prisoners — all, 
all shall attend me — a goodly fellowship as ever took 


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Ivanhoe 


342 

the downward road. Ha, ha, ha ! ” and he laughed in 
his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. “ Who 
laughed there?” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in altered 
mood, .for the noise of the conflict did not prevent the 
5 echoes of his own mad laughter from returning upon 
his ear — “ who laughed there ? Ulrica, was it thou ? 
Speak, witch, and I forgive thee; for only thou or the 
Fiend of Hell himself could have laughed at such a mo- 
ment. Avaunt — avaunt ! ” 

10 But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of 
the blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Once mor^, unto the breach, dear friends, once more, 

Or close the wall up with our English dead. 

. . . And you, good yeomen, 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture — let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding. 

King Henry V. 

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s mes- 
sage, omitted not to communicate her promise to the 
Black Knight and Locksley. They were well pleased to 
find they had a friend within the place, who might, in 
the moment of need, be able to facilitate their entrance, 
and readily agreed with the Saxon that a storm, under 
whatever disadvantages, ought to be attempted, as the 
only means of liberating the prisoners now in the hands 
of the cruel Front-de-Boeuf. 

“ The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said Ced- 
ric. 

“ The honor of a noble lady is in peril,” said the Black 
Knight. 

“ And, by the St. Christopher at my baldric,” said the 
good yeoman, “ were there no other cause than the safety of 
that poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a joint 
ere a hair of his head were hurt.” 

“And so would I,” said the Friar; “what, sirs! I 
trust well that a fool — I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool 
that is free of his guild and master of his craft, and can 
give as much relish and flavor to a cup of wine as ever 
a flitch of bacon can — I say, brethren, such a fool shall 
never want a wise clerk to pray for or fight for him at a 
strait, while I can say a mass or flourish a partizan.” 

343 


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344 Ivanhoe 

And with that he made his heavy halberd to play 
around his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light 
crook. 

“True, holy clerk,” said the Black Knight— “true as 
5 if St. Dunstan himself had said it. And now, good 
Locksley, were it not well that noble Cedric should as- 
sume the direction of this assault ? ” 

“Not a jot I,” returned Cedric; “I haye never been 
wont to study either how to take or how to hold out those 
10 abodes of tyrannic power which the Normans have 
erected in this groaning land. I will fight among the 
foremost; but my honest neighbors well know I am not 
a trained soldier in the discipline of wars or the attack 
of strongholds.” 

15 “ Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,” said Locks- 

ley, “ I am most willing to take on me the direction of 
the archery ; and ye shall hang me up on my own trysting- 
tree an the defenders be permitted to show themselves 
over the walls without being stuck with as many shafts 
20 as there are cloves in a gammon of bacon at Christ- 
mas.” 

“ Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black 
Knight ; “ and if I be thought worthy to have a charge 
in these matters, and can find among these brave men 
25 as many as are willing to follow a true English knight, 
for so I may surely call myself, I am ready, with such 
skill as my experience has taught me, to lead them to the 
attack of these walls.” 

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they 
30 commenced the first assault, of which the reader has 
already heard the issue. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent 
notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at 
the same time to keep such a strict observation on the 
35 castle as might prevent the defenders from combining 
their force for a sudden sally, and recovering the out- 
work which they had lost. This the knight was chiefly 
desirous of avoiding, conscious that the men whom he 
led, being hasty and untrained volunteers, imperfectly 


Ivanhoe 


345 

armed and unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any 
sudden attack, fight at great disadvantage with the vet- 
eran soldiers of the Norman knights, who were well pro- 
vided with arms both defensive and offensive; and who, 
to match the zeal and high spirit of the besiegers, had 
all the confidence which arises from perfect discipline 
and the habitual use of weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be con- 
structed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means 
of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the re- 
sistance of the enemy. This was a work of some time, 
which the leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulrica 
leisure to execute her plan of diversion in their favor, 
whatever that might be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight ad- 
dressed the besiegers : “ It avails not waiting here 

longer, my friends; the sun is descending to the west, 
and I have that upon my hands which will not permit 
me to tarry with you another day. Besides, it will be 
a marvel if the horsemen come not upon us from York, 
unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, 
one of ye go to Locksley, and bid him commence a dis- 
charge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and 
move forward as if about to assault it; and you, true 
English hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrust the 
raft endlong over the moat whenever the postern on 
our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and 
aid me to burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the 
castle. As many of you as like not this service, or are 
but ill armed to meet it, do you man the top of the out- 
work, draw your bowstrings to your ears, and mind you 
quell with your shot whatever shall appear to man the ram- 
part. Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those 
which remain ? ” 

“ Not so, by the soul of Hereward ! ” said the Saxon ; 
“ lead I cannot ; but may posterity curse me in my grave, 
if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt 
point the way. The quarrel is mine, and well it becomes 
me to be in the van of the battle.” 


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Ivanhoe 


346 

“ Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, 
“thou hast neither hauberk, nor corselet, nor aught but 
that light helmet, target, and sword.” 

“ Th£ better ! ” answered Cedric ; “ I shall be the 
5 lighter to climb these walls. And — forgive the boast, 
Sir Knight — thou shalt this day see the naked breast of 
a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle as ever ye be- 
held the steel corselet of a Norman.” 

“ In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “ fling 
10 open the door, and launch the floating bridge.” 

The portal, which led from the inner wall of the bar- 
bican to the moat, and which corresponded with a sally- 
port in the main wall of the castle, was now suddenly 
opened; the temporary bridge was then thrust forward, 
15 and soon flashed in the waters, extending its length be- 
tween the castle and outwork, and forming a slippery 
and precarious passage for two men abreast to cross the 
moat. Well aware of the importance of taking the foe 
by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by Ced- 
20 ric, threw himself upon the bridge, and reached the 
opposite side. Here he began to thunder with his ax 
upon the gate of the castle, protected in part from the 
shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the 
former drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished 
25 in his retreat from the barbican, leaving the counter- 
poise still attached to the upper part of the portal. The 
followers of the knight had no such shelter; two were 
instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell 
into the moat; the others retreated back into the bar- 
30 bican. 

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was 
now truly dangerous, and would have been still more so 
but for the constancy of the archers in the barbican, 
who ceased not to shower their arrows upon the battle- 
35 ments, distracting the attention of those by whom they 
were manned, and thus affording a respite to their two 
chiefs from the storm of missiles which must otherwise 
have overwhelmed them. But their situation was em- 


Ivanhoe 


347 

inently perilous, and was becoming more so with every 
moment. 

“ Shame on ye all ! ” cried De Bracy to the soldiers 
around him ; “ do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and let 
these two dogs keep their station under the walls of the 
castle? Heave over the coping stones from the battle- 
ment, an better may not be. Get pickax and levers, 
and down with that huge pinnacle ! ” pointing to a heavy 
piece of stone carved-work that projected from the para- 
pet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red 
flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had de- 
scribed to Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley was the 
first who was aware of it, as he was hasting to the out- 
work, impatient to see the progress of the assault. 

“ St. George ! ” he cried — “ Merry St. George for Eng- 
land ! To the charge, bold yeomen ! why leave ye the 
good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? 
Make in, mad priest, show thou canst fight for thy ro- 
sary — make in, brave yeomen ! — the castle is ours, we 
have friends within. See yonder flag, it is the appointed 
signal — Torquilstone is ours! Think of honor — think 
of spoil ! One effort, and the place is ours ! ” 

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right 
through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under 
De Bracy’s direction, was loosening a fragment from one 
of the battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric 
and the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from 
the hands of the dying man the iron crow with which he 
heaved at and had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, 
receiving ^n arrow through his head-piece, he dropped 
from the battlements into the moat a dead man. The 
men-at-arms were daunted, for no armor seemed proof 
against the shot of this tremendous archer. 

“Do you give ground, base knaves!” said De Bracy; 
“Mount joye Saint Denis! Give me the lever! ” 

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened 
pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, 


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348 Ivanhoe 

not only to have * destroyed the remnant of the draw- 
bridge which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but 
also to have sunk the rude float of planks over which 
they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, 
5 even the stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot on the 
raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De 
Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the 
knight’s armor of proof. 

“ Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat ! ” said Locksley, 
10 “ had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone 
through, an as if it had been silk or sendal.” He then 
began to call out, “ Comrades ! friends ! noble Cedric ! 
bear back and let the ruin fall.” 

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the 
15 knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern 
would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful 
Xnirth indeed sprung forward on the planked bridge, to 
warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with 
him. But his warning would have come too late; the 
20 massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who 
still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, 
had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his 
'•ear : 

“ All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns.” 

25 “ Thou art mad to say so ! ” replied the knight. 

“ It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have 
striven in vain to extinguish it.” 

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his 
character, Brain de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hid- 
30 eous intelligence, which was not so calmly received by 
his astonished comrade. 

“Saints of Paradise!” said De Bracy; “what is to be 
done? I vow to St. Nicholas of Lim6ges a candlestick 
of pure gold — ” 

35 “ Spare thy vow,” said the Templar, “ and mark me. 

Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw the postern 
gate open. There are but two men who occupy the 
float, fling them into the moat, and push across for the 
barbican. I will charge from the main gate, and attack 


Ivanhoe 349 

the barbican on the outside; and if we can regain that 
post, be assured we shall defend ourselves until we are 
relieved, or at least till they grant us fair quarter.” 

“ It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy; “ I will play 
my part. Templar, thou wilt not fail me ? ” 

“ Hand and glove, I will not ! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 
“ But haste thee, in the name of God ! ” 

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed 
down to the postern gate, which he caused instantly to be 
thrown open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous 
strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in 
despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the fore- 
most instantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstand- 
ing all their leader’s efforts to stop them. 

“ Dogs ! ” said De Bracy, “ will ye let two men win 
our only pass for safety ? ” 

“He is the devil!” said a veteran man-at-arms, bear- 
ing back from the blows of their sable antagonist. 

“ And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “ would 
you fly from him into the mouth of hell ? The castle 
burns behind us, villains ! — let despair give you cour- 
age, or let me forward ! I will cope with this champion 
myself.” 

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day main- 
tain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that 
dreadful period. The vaulted passage to which the pos- 
tern gave entrance, and in which these two redoubted 
champions were now fighting hand to hand, rung with the 
furious blows which they dealt each other, De Bracy 
with his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous 
ax. At length the Norman received a blow which, 
though its force was partly parried by his shield, for 
otherwise never more would De Bracy have again moved 
limb, descended yet with such violence on his crest that 
he measured his length on the paved floor. 

“ Yield thee, De Bracy,” said the Black Champion, 
stooping over him, and holding against the bars of his 
helmet the fatal poniard with which the knights de- 
spatched their enemies, and which was called the dagger 


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of mercy — “yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no 
rescue, or thou art but a dead man.” 

“ I will not yield,” replied De Bracy, faintly, “ to an 
unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy 
5 pleasure on me; it shall never be said that Maurice de 
Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl.” 

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear 
of the vanquished. 

“ I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,” 
10 answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and 
determined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen sub- 
mission. 

“ Go to the barbican,” said the victor, in a tone of 
authority, “ and there wait my further orders.” 

15 “ Yet first let me say,” said De Bracy, “ what it im- 

ports thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and 
a prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle without 
present help.” 

“Wilfred of Ivanhoe! ” exclaimed the Black Knight — 
20 “ prisoner, and perish ! The life of every man in the 
castle shall answer it if a hair of his head be singed. 
Show me his chamber ! ” 

“Ascend yonder winding stair,” said De Bracy; “it 
leads to his apartment. Wilt thou not accept my guid- 
25 ance ? ” he added, in a submissive voice. 

“ No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I 
trust thee not, De Bracy.” 

During this combat and the brief conversation which 
ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among 
30 whom the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed across the 
bridge as soon as they saw the postern open, and drove 
back the dispirited and despairing followers of De Bracy, 
of whom some asked quarter, some offered vain resistance, 
and the greater part fled towards the courtyard. De 
35 Bracy himself arose from the ground, and cast a sorrow- 
ful glance after his conqueror. “ He trusts me not ! ” he 
repeated; “but have I deserved his trust?” He then 
lifted his sword from the floor, took off his helmet in 


Ivanhoe 


351 

token of submission, and, going to the barbican, gave up 
his sword to Locksley, whom he met by the way. 

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon 
apparent in the chamber where Ivanhoe was watched 
and tended by the Jewess Rebecca. He had been awak- 
ened from his brief slumber by the noise of the battle; 
and his attendant, who had, at his anxious desire, again 
placed herself at the window to watch and report to him 
the fate of the attack, was for some time prevented from 
observing either by the increase of the smoldering and 
stifling vapor. At length the volumes of smoke which 
rolled into the apartment, the cries for water, which were 
heard even above the din of the battle, made them sensi- 
ble of the progress of this new danger. 

“The castle burns,” said Rebecca — “it burns! What 
can we do to save ourselves ? ” 

“ Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,” said Ivanhoe, 
“ for no human aid can avail me.” 

“ I will not fly,” answered Rebecca ; “ we will be saved 
or perish together. And yet, great God ! my father — 
my father, what will be his fate ? ” 

At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, 
and the Templar presented himself — a ghastly figure, for 
his gilded armor was broken and bloody, and the plume 
was partly shorn away, partly burnt from his casque. “ I 
have found thee,” said he to Rebecca ; “ thou shalt prove 
I will keep my word to share weal and woe with thee. 
There is but one path to safety: I have cut my way 
through fifty dangers to point it to thee; up, and instantly 
follow me ! ” 

“ Alone,” answered Rebecca, “ I will not follow thee. 
If thou wert born of woman — if thou hast but a touch 
of human charity in thee — if thy heart be not hard as 
thy breastplate — save my aged father — save this 
wounded knight ! ” 

“ A knight,” answered the Templar, with his character- 
istic calmness — “ a knight, Rebecca, must encounter his 


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fate, whether it meet him in the shape of sword or flame ; 
and who recks how or where a Jew meets with his? ” 

“ Savage warrior,” said Rebecca, “ rather will I perish 
in the flames than accept safety from thee ! ” 

5 “ Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca ; once didst thou foil 

me, but never mortal did so twice.” 

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled 
the air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in 
his arms, in spite of her cries, and without regarding the 
10 menaces and defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against 
him. “Hound of the Temple — stain to thine order — 
set free the damsel ! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivan- 
hoe commands thee ! Villain, I will have thy heart’s 
blood ! ” 

15 “ I had not found thee, Wilfred,” said the Black 

Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment, “ but 
for thy shouts.” 

“ If thou be’st true knight,” said Wilfred, “ think not of 
me — pursue yon ravisher — save the Lady Rowena — 
20 look to the noble Cedric ! ” 

“ In their turn,” answered he of the Fetterlock, “ but 
thine is first.” 

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as 
much ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, 
25 rushed with him to the postern, and having there deliv- 
ered his burden to the care of two yeomen, he again en- 
tered the castle to assist in the rescue of the other pris- 
oners. 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out 
30 furiously from window and shot-hole. But in other parts 
the great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of 
the apartments resisted the progress of the flames, and 
there the rage of man still triumphed, as the scarce more 
dreadful element held mastery elsewhere; for the besieg- 
35 ers pursued the defenders of the castle from chamber to 
chamber, and satiated in their blood the vengeance which 
had long animated them against the soldiers of the tyrant 
Front-de-Boeuf. Most of the garrison resisted to the ut- 
termost; few of them asked quarter; none received it. 


Ivanhoe 353 

The air was filled with groans and clashing of arms; the 
floors were slippery with the blood of despairing and ex- 
piring wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in 
quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him 
closely through the melee, neglected his own safety while 
he strove to avert the blows that were aimed at his 
master. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach 
his ward’s apartment just as she had abandoned all hope 
of safety, and, with a crucifix clasped in agony to her 
bosom, sat in expectation of instant death. He com- 
mitted her to the charge of Gurth, to be conducted in 
safety to the barbican, the road to which was now cleared 
of the enemy, and not yet interrupted by the flames. 
This accomplished, the loyal Cedric hastened in quest of 
his friend Athelstane, determined, at every risk to him- 
self, to save that last scion of Saxon royalty. But ere 
Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in which he had 
himself been a prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba 
had procured liberation for himself and his companion in 
adversity. 

When 'the noise of the conflict announced that it was 
at the hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the utmost 
power of his lungs, “ St. George and the dragon ! Bonny 
St. George for merry England ! The castle is won ! ” 
And these sounds he rendered yet more fearful by bang- 
ing against each other two or three pieces of rusty armor 
which lay scattered around the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer or 
anteroom, and whose spirits were already in a state of 
alarm, took fright at Wamba’s clamor, and, leaving the 
door open behind them, ran to tell the Templar that foe- 
men had entered the old hall. Meanwhile the prisoners 
found no difficulty in making their escape into the ante- 
room, and from thence into the court of the castle, which 
was now the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce 
Templar, mounted on horseback, surrounded by several of 
the garrison both on horse and foot, who had united their 
strength to that of this renowned leader, in order to 


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Ivanhoe 


secure the last chance of safety and retreat which re- 
mained to them. The drawbridge had been lowered by 
his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, - 
who had hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side 
5 by their missiles, no sooner saw the flames breaking out, 
and the bridge lowered, than they thronged to the en- j 
trance, as well to prevent the escape of the garrison as 
to secure their own share of booty ere the castle should 
be burnt down. On the other hand, a party of the be- 
*10 siegers, who had entered by the postern, were now issu- 
ing out into the courtyard, and attacking with fury the 
remnant of the defenders, who were thus assaulted on 
both sides at once. 

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the 
15 example of their indomitable leader, the remaining 
soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valor; and, 
being well armed, succeeded more than once in driving 
back the assailants, though much inferior in numbers. ' 
Rebecca, placed on horseback before one of the Templar’s 
20 Saracen slaves, was in the midst of the little party; and j 
Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the confusion of the bloody 
fray, showed every attention to her safety. Repeatedly 
he was by her side, and, neglecting his own defense, held 
before her the fence of his triangular steel-plated shield; j 
25 and anon starting from his position by her, he cried his 
war-cry, dashed forward, struck to earth the most for- i 
ward of the assailants, and was on the same instant once 
more at her bridle rein. 

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but | 
( 30 not cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar ! 
protected thus sedulously, and doubted not that it was j 
Rowena whom the knight was carrying off, in despite of j 
all resistance which could be offered. 

“ By the soul of St. Edward,” he said, “ I will rescue 
'35 her from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by I 
my hand ! ” 

“Think what you do!” cried Wamba; “hasty hand 
catches frog for fish ; by my fyauble, yonder is none of my | 
Lady Rowena, see but her long dark locks! Nay, an ye 


Ivanhoe 


355 

will not know black from white, ye may be leader, but I 
will be no follower; no bones of mine shall be broken un- 
less I know for whom. And you without armor too ! 
Bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade. Nay, 
then, if willful will to water, willful must drench. Deus 5 
vobiscum, most doughty Athelstane ! ” he concluded, 
loosening the hold which he had hitherto kept upon the 
Saxon’s tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay 
beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it, to 10 
rush on the Templar’s band, and to strike in quick suc- 
cession to the right and left, leveling a warrior at each 
blow, was, for Athelstane’s great strength, now animated 
with unusual fury, but the work of a single moment; he 
was soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he 15 
defied in his loudest tone. 

“Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou 
art unworthy to touch; turn, limb of a band of murder- 
ing and hypocritical robbers ! ” 

“ Dog ! ” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “ I will 20 
teach thee to blaspheme the holy order of the Temple of 
Zion”; and with these words, half-wheeling his steed, 
he made a demi-courbette towards the Saxon, and rising 
in the stirrups, so as to take full advantage of the descent 
of the horse, he discharged a fearful blow upon the head 25 
of Athelstane. 

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no steel 
blade! So trenchant was the Templar’s weapon, that it 
shore asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the tough 
and plaited handle of the mace, which the ill-fated Saxon 30 
reared to parry the blow, and, descending on his head, 
leveled him with the earth. 

“Ha! Beau-seant ! ” exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, “thus be 
it to the maligners of the Temple knights!” Taking 
advantage of the dismay which was spread by the fall of 35 
Athelstane, and calling aloud, “ Those who would save 
themselves, follow me ! ” he pushed across the drawbridge, 
dispersing the archers who would have intercepted them. 

He was followed by his Saracens, and some five or six 


Ivanhoe 


356 

men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Tem- 
plar’s retreat was rendered perilous by the numbers of 
arrows shot off at him and his party ; but this did not pre- 
vent him from galloping round to the barbican, of which, 
5 according to his previous plan, he supposed it possible De 
Bracy might have been in possession. 

“ De Bracy ! De Bracy ! ” he shouted, “ art thou there? ” 

“ I am here,” replied De Bracy, “ but I am a prisoner.” 

“ Can I rescue thee ? ” cried Bois-Guilbert. 

10 “No,” replied De Bracy; “I have rendered me, rescue 

or no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself; 
there are hawks abroad. Put the seas betwixt you and 
England ; I dare not say more.” 

“Well,” answered the Templar, “an thou wilt tarry 
15 there, remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be 
the hawks where they will, methinks the walls of the pre- 
ceptory of Templestowe will be cover sufficient, and 
thither will I, like heron to her haunt.” 

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers. 
20 Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still 
continued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after 
the departure of the Templar, but rather in despair of 
quarter than that they entertained any hope of escape. 
The fire was spreading rapidly through all parts of the 
25 castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on 
a turret, in the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling 
forth a war-song, such as was of yore raised on the field 
of battle by the scalds of the yet heathen Saxons. Her 
long disheveled gray hair flew back from her uncovered 
30 head ; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance con- 
tended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; and she 
brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, as 
if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters who spin and 
abridge the thread of human life. Tradition has pre- 
35 served some wild strophes of the barbarous hymn which 
she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire and of slaugh- 
ter:— 


Ivanhoe 


357 


Whet the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch. 

Daughter of Hengist! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist! 

The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle; 

The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth, 

The race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls. 

Many a helmed head. 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle, 

The black clouds gather round; 

Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant ! 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against 
them. 

He, the bright consumer of palaces. 

Broad waves he his blazing banner; 

Red, wide, and dusky. 

Over the strife of the valiant: 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the 
wound ! 

All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet; 

The strong armor is pierced by the lance ; 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes; 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish ! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 


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Ivanhoe 


358 

The name of Horsa is no more! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword ! 

Let your blades drink blood like wine; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 

5 By the light of the blazing halls! 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 

And spare neither for pity nor fear, 

For vengeance hath but an hour; 

Strong hate itself shall expire! 

10 I also must perish! 

The towering flames had now surmounted every ob- 
struction, and rose to the evening skies one huge and 
burning beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent 
country. Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing 
15 roof and rafter ; and the combatants were driven from the 
courtyard. The vanquished, of whom very few remained, 
scattered and escaped into the neighboring wood. The 
victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder, 
not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in which their 
20 own ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The maniac 
figure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible on 
the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her arms abroad 
with wild exultation, as if she reigned empress of the 
conflagration which she had raised. At length, with a ter- 
25 rific crash, the whole turret gave way, and she perished 
in the flames which had consumed her tyrant. An awful 
pause of horror silenced each murmur of the armed spec- 
tators, who, for the space of several minutes, stirred not 
a finger, save to sign the cross. The voice of Locksley 
30 was then heard — “ Shout, yeomen ! the den of tyrants is 
no more ! Let each bring his spoil to our chosen place 
of rendezvous at the trysting-tree in the Harthill Walk; 
for there at break of day will we make just partition 
among our own bands, together with our worthy allies in 
35 this great deed of vengeance.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 

Trust me, each state must have its policies: 

Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters; 

Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk. 

Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline; 

For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, 

Hath man with man in social union dwelt, 

But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. gj 

The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak 
forest. The green boughs glittered with all their pearls 
of dew. The hind led her fawn from the covert of high 
fern to the more open walks of the greenwood, and no 
huntsman was there to watch or intercept the stately 5 - 
hart, as he paced at the head of the antlered herd. 

The outlaws were all assembled around the trysting- 
tree in the Harthill Walk, where they had spent the night 
in refreshing themselves after the fatigues of the siege — 
some with wine, some with slumber, many with hearing l(j 
and recounting the events of the day, and computing the 
heaps of plunder which their success had placed at the 
disposal of their chief. 

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstand- 
ing that much was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich 15 
armor, and splendid clothing had been secured by the ex- 
ertions of the dauntless outlaws, who could be appalled 
by no danger when such rewards were in view. Yet so 
strict were the laws of their society, that no one ven- 
tured to appropriate any part of the booty, which was 20 
brought into one common mass, to be at the disposal of 
their leader. 

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not, how- 

359 


Ivanhoe 


360 

ever, the same to which Locksley had conducted Gurth 
and Wamba in the earlier part of the story, but one 
which was the center of a silvan amphitheater, within 
half a mile of the demolished castle of Torquilstone. 
5 Here Locksley assumed his seat — a throne of turf 
erected under the twisted branches of the huge oak, and 
the silvan followers were gathered around him. He as- 
signed to the Black Knight a seat at his right hand, and 
to Cedric a place upon his left. 

10 “ Pardon my freedom, noble sirs/’ he said, “ but in 

these glades I am monarch: they are my kingdom; and 
these my wild subjects would reck but little of my power, 
were I, within my own dominions, to yield place to 
mortal man. Now, sirs, who hath seen our chaplain? 
15 where is our curtal friar? A mass amongst Christian 
men best begins a busy morning.” No one had seen the 
clerk of Copmanhurst. “ Over God’s forbode ! ” said the 
outlaw chief, “ I trust the jolly priest hath but abidden 
by the wine-pot a thought too late. Who saw him since 
20 the castle was ta’en ? ” 

“ I,” quoth the Miller, “ marked him busy about the 
door of a cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar 
he would taste the smack of Front-de-Boeuf’ s Gascoigne 
wine.” 

25 “ Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,” said 

the captain, “ forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of 
the wine-butts, and perished by the fall of the castle! 
Away, Miller ! take with you enow of men, seek the place 
where you last saw him, throw water from the moat on 
30 the scorching ruins; I will have them removed stone by 
stone ere I lose my curtal friar.” 

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, con- 
sidering that an interesting division of spoil was about 
to take place, showed how much the troop had at heart 
35 the safety of their spiritual father. 

“ Meanwhile, let us proceed,” said Locksley ; “ for 
• when this bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands 
of De Bracy, of Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de- 
Boeuf, will be in motion against us, and it were well for 


Ivanhoe 


361 

our safety that we retreat from the vicinity. Noble 
Cedric/’ he said, turning to the Saxon, “that spoil is 
divided into two portions; do thou make choice of that 
which best suits thee, to recompense thy people who 
were partakers with us in this adventure.” 

“ Good yeoman,” said Cedric, “ my heart is oppressed 
with sadness. The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is 
no more — ■ the last sprout of the sainted Confessor ! 
Hopes have perished with him which can never return ! 
A sparkle hath been quenched by his blood which no 
human breath can again rekindle ! My people, save the 
few who are now with me, do but tarry my presence to 
transport his honored remains to their last mansion. 
The Lady Rowena is desirous to return to Rotherwood, 
and must be escorted by a sufficient force. I should, 
therefore, ere now have left this place; and I waited, not 
to share the booty, for, so help me God and St. Withold ! 
as neither I nor any of mine will touch the value of 
a Hard — I waited but to render my thanks to thee and 
to thy bold yeomen, for the life and honor ye have 
saved.” 

“ Nay, but,” said the chief outlaw, “ we did but half 
the work at most; take of the spoil what may reward 
your own neighbors and followers.” 

“ I am rich enough to reward them from mine own 
wealth,” answered Cedric. 

“ And some,” said Wamba, “ have been wise enough to 
reward themselves; they do not march off empty-handed 
altogether. We do not all wear motley.” 

“ They are welcome,” said Locksley ; “ our laws bind 
none but ourselves.” 

“ But thou, my poor knave,” said Cedric, turning about 
and embracing his Jester, “ how shall I reward thee, who 
feared not to give thy body to chains and death instead 
of mine? All forsook me, when the poor fool was faith- 
ful.” 

A tear stood in the eye of the rough thane as he spoke 
— a mark of feeling which even the death of Athelstane 
had not extracted; but there was something in the half- 


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362 Ivanhoe 

instinctive attachment of his clown that waked his nature 
more keenly than even grief itself. 

“ Nay,” said the Jester, extricating himself from his 
master’s caress, “ if you pay my service with the water 
5 of your eye, the Jester must weep for company, and then 
what becomes of his vocation? But, uncle, if you would 
indeed pleasure me, I pray you to pardon my playfellow 
Gurth, who stole a week from your service to bestow it 
on your son.” 

10 “ Pardon him ! ” exclaimed Cedric ; “ I will both par- 

don and reward him. Kneel down, Gurth.” The swine- 
herd was in an instant at his master’s feet. “Theow 
and Esne art thou no longer,” said Cedric, touching 
him with a wand; “ Folkfree and Sacless art thou in 
15 town and from town, in the forest as in the field. A hide 
of land I give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, from 
me and mine to thee and thine aye and forever ; and God’s 
malison on his head who this gainsays ! ” 

No longer a serf but a freeman and a landholder, 
20 Gurth sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to 
almost his own height from the ground. 

“ A smith and a file,” he cried, “ to do away the collar 
from the neck of a freeman ! Noble master ! doubled is 
my strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for 
25 you ! There is a free spirit in my breast. I am a man 
changed to myself and all around. Ha, Fangs ! ” he con- 
tinued, for that faithful cur, seeing his master thus 
transported, began to jump upon him to express his 
sympathy, “ knowest thou thy master still ? ” 

30 “ Aye,” said Wamba, “ Fangs and I still know thee, 

Gurth, though we must needs abide by the collar; it is 
only thou art likely to forget both us and thyself.” 

“ I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true 
comrade,” said Gurth ; “ and were freedom fit for thee, 
35 Wamba, the master would not let thee want it.” 

“ Nay,” said Wamba, “ never think I envy thee, brother 
Gurth ; the serf sits by the hall fire when the freeman 
must forth to the field of battle. And what saith Aid- 


Ivanhoe 363 

helm of Malmsbury — ■ Better a fool at a feast than a 
wise man at a fray.’ ” 

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady 
Rowena appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a 
much stronger party of footmen, who joyfully shook 
their pikes and clashed their brown-bills for joy of her 
freedom. She herself, richly attired, and mounted on a 
dark chestnut palfrey, had recovered all the dignity of 
her manner, and only an unwonted degree of paleness 
showed the sufferings she had undergone.. Her lovely 
brow, though sorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving 
hope for the future, as well as of grateful thankfulness 
for the past deliverance. She knew that Ivanhoe was 
safe, and she knew that Athelstane was dead. The 
former assurance filled her with the most sincere delight; 
and if she did not absolutely rejoice at the latter, she 
might be pardoned for feeling the full advantage of be- 
ing freed from further persecution on the only subject in 
which she had ever been contradicted by her guardian 
Cedric. 

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that 
bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, 
as if by a general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose 
to her cheeks as, courteously waving her hand, and 
bending so low that her beautiful and loose tresses were 
for an instant mixed with the flowing mane of her pal- 
frey, she expressed in few but apt words her obligations 
and her gratitude to Locksley and her other deliverers. 
“ God bless you, brave men,” she concluded — “ God and 
Our Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly peril- 
ing yourselves in the cause of the oppressed ! If any of 
you should hunger, remember Rowena has food; if you 
should thirst, she has many a butt of wine and brown ale ; 
and if the Normans drive ye from these walks, Rowena 
has forests of her own, where her gallant deliverers may 
range at full freedom, and never ranger ask whose ar- 
row hath struck down the deer.” 

“ Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley — “ thanks from 


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364 

my company and myself. But to have saved you requites 
itself. We who walk the greenwood do many a wild 
deed, and the Lady Rowena’s deliverance may be re- 
ceive^ as an atonement.” 

5 Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to de- 
part; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to 
attend her, was also taking his leave, she found herself 
unexpectedly close by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood 
under a tree in deep meditation, his arms crossed upon 
10 his breast, and Rowena was in hopes she might pass him 
unobserved. He looked up, however, and, when aware 
of her presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his hand- 
some countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; 
then, stepping forward, took her palfrey by the rein and 
15 bent his knee before her. 

“ Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye on a 
captive knight — on a dishonored soldier ? ” 

“ Sir Knight,” answered Rowena, “ in enterprises such 
• as yours, the real dishonor lies not in failure, but in suc- 
20 cess.” 

“ Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered 
De Bracy; “let me but know that the Lady Rowena for- 
gives the violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and 
she shall soon learn that De Bracy knows how to serve 
25 her in nobler ways.” 

“ I forgive you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “ as a Chris- 
tian.” 

“ That means,” said Wamba, “ that she does not forgive 
him at all.” 

30 “ But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your 

madness has occasioned,” continued Rowena. 

“Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said Cedric, 
coming up. “ By the bright sun above us, but it were 
shame, I would pin thee to the earth with my javelin; 
35 but be well assured, thou shalt smart, Maurice de Bracy' 
for thy share in this foul deed.” 

He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,” said i 
De Bracy; “but when had a Saxon any touch of cour- 
tesy ? ” 


Ivanhoe 365 

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the 
lady to move on. 

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar grat- 
itude to the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated 
him to accompany him to Rotherwood. 

“ I know,” he said, “ that ye errant knights desire to 
carry your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck 
not of land or goods ; but war is a changeful mistress, 
and a home is sometimes desirable even to the champion 
whose trade is wandering. Thou hast earned one in the 
halls of Rotherwood, noble knight. Cedric has wealth 
enough to repair the injuries of fortune, and all he has is 
his deliverer’s. Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as 
a guest, but as a son or brother.” 

“ Cedric has already made me rich,” said the Knight ; 
“ he has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To 
Rotherwood will I come, brave Saxon, and that speed- 
ily; but, as now, pressing matters of moment detain me 
from your halls. Peradventure, when I come hither, I 
will ask such a boon as will put even thy generosity to 
the test.” 

“ It is granted ere spoken out,” said Cedric, striking 
his ready hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black 
Knight — “ it is granted already, were it to affect half 
my fortune.” 

“ Gage not thy promise *so lightly,” said the Knight 
of the Fetterlock; “yet well I hope to gain the boon I 
shall ask. Meanwhile, adieu.” 

“ I have but to say,” added the Saxon, “ that, during 
the funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an 
inhabitant of the halls of his castle of Coningsburgh. 
They will be open to all who choose to partake of the 
funeral banqueting; and — I speak in name of the noble 
Edith, mother of the fallen prince — they will never be 
shut against him who labored so bravely, though unsuc- 
cessfully, to save Athelstane from Norman chains and 
Norman steel.” 

“ Aye, aye,” said Wamba, who had resumed his at- 
tendance on his master, “ rare feeding there will be ; pity 


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Ivanhoe 


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that the noble Athelstane cannot banquet at his own 
funeral. But he,” continued the Jester, lifting up his 
eyes gravely, “ is supping in Paradise, and doubtless does 
honor, to the cheer.” 

5 “ Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at this 

untimely jest being checked by the recollection of Wam- 
ba’s recent services. Rowena waved a graceful adieu to 
him of the Fetterlock, the Saxon bade God speed him, 
and on they moved through a wide glade of the forest. 

10 They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession 
moved from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly 
round the silvan amphitheater, and took the same direct 
tion with Rowena and her followers. The priests of a 
neighboring convent, in expectation of the ample dona- 
15 tion, or “ soul-scat,” which Cedric had propined, at- 
tended upon the car in which the body of Athelstane 
was laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly and slowly 
borne on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of 
Coningsburgh, to be there deposited in the grave of 
20 Hengist, from whom the deceased derived his long de- 
scent. Many of his vassals had assembled at the news 
of his death, and followed the bier with all the external 
marks, at least, of dejection and sorrow. Again the out- 
laws arose, and paid the same rude and spontaneous 
25 homage to death which they had so lately rendered to 
beauty: the slow chant and mournful step of the priests 
brought back to their remembrance such of their comrades 
as had fallen in the yesterday’s affray. But such recol- 
lections dwell not long with those who lead a life of 
30 danger and enterprise, and ere the sound of the death- 
hymn had died on the wind, the outlaws were again busied 
in the distribution of their spoil. 

“ Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black Cham- 
pion, “ without whose good heart and mighty arm our en- 
35 terprise must altogether have failed, will it please you to 
take from that mass of spoil whatever may best serve 
to pleasure you, and to remind you of this my trysting- 
tree ? ” 

“ I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “ as frankly as it 


Ivanhoe 367 

is given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice 
de Bracy at my own pleasure.” 

“ He is thine already,” said Locksley, “ and well for 
him ! else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of this 
oak, with as many of his Free Companions as we could 
gather hanging thick as acorns around him. But he is 
thy prisoner, and he is safe, though he had slain my 
father.” 

“ De Bracy,” said the Knight, “ thou art free — depart. 
He whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge 
for what is past. But beware of the future, lest a worse 
thing befall thee. Maurice de Bracy, I say beware ! ” 

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to 
withdraw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout 
of execration and derision. The proud knight instantly 
stopped, turned back, folded his arms, drew up his form 
to its full height, and exclaimed, “ Peace, ye yelping curs ! 
who open upon a cry which ye followed not when the 
stag was at bay. De Bracy scorns your censure as he 
would disdain your applause. To your brakes and caves, 
ye outlawed thieves ! and be silent when aught knightly 
or noble is but spoken within a league of your fox-earths.” 

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De 
Bracy a volley of arrows, but for the hasty and impera- 
tive interference of the outlaw chief. Meanwhile, the 
knight caught a horse by the rein, for several which had 
been taken in the stables of Front-de-Boeuf stood ac- 
coutered around, and were a valuable part of the booty. 
He threw himself upon the saddle, and galloped off 
through the wood. 

When the bustle occasioned by this incident was some- 
what composed, the chief outlaw took from his neck the 
rich horn and baldric which he had recently gained at 
the strife of archery near Ashby. 

“ Noble knight,” he said to him of the Fetterlock, “ if 
you disdain not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which 
an English yeoman has once worn, this I will pray you 
to keep as a memorial of your gallant bearing; and if ye 
have aught to do, and, as liappeneth oft to a gallant 


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Ivanhoe 


368 

knight, ye chance to be hard bested in any forest between 
Trent and Tees, wind three mots upon the horn thus, 
Wa-sa-hoa! and it may well chance ye shall find helpers 
and rescue.” 

5 He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once and 
again the call which he described, until the Knight had 
caught the notes. 

“ Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,” said the Knight ; 
“ and better help than thine and thy rangers would I never 
10 seek, were it at my utmost need.” And then in his turn 
he winded the call till all the greenwood rang. 

“ Well blown and clearly,” said the yeoman ; “ beshrew 
me an thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war ! 
Thou hast been a striker of deer in thy day, I warrant. 
15 Comrades, mark these three mots; it is the call of the 
Knight of the Fetterlock; and he who hears it, and has- 
tens not to serve him at his need, I will have him scourged 
out of our band with his own bowstring.” 

“ Long live our leader ! ” shouted the yeomen, “ and 
20 long live the Black Knight of the Fetterlock ! May he 
soon use our service to prove how readily it will be 
paid.” 

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, 
which he performed with the most laudable impartiality. 
25 A tenth part of the whole was set apart for the church and 
for pious uses; a portion was next allotted to a sort of 
public treasury; a part was assigned to the widows and 
children of those who had fallen, or to be expended in 
masses for the souls of such as had left no surviving 
30 family. The rest was divided amongst the outlaws, ac- 
cording to their rank and merit; and the judgment of 
the chief, on all such doubtful questions as occurred, was 
delivered with great shrewdness, and received with abso- 
lute submission. The Black Knight was not a little 
35 surprised to find that men in a state so lawless were never- 
theless among themselves so regularly and equitably gov- 
erned, and all that he observed added to his opinion of 
the justice and judgment of their leader. 

When each had taken his own proportion of the booty. 


Ivanhoe 


369 

and while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeo- 
men, was transporting that belonging to the state to some 
place of concealment or of security, the portion devoted 
j to the church still remained unappropriated. 

“I would,” said the leader, “we could hear tidings. of 
1 our joyous chaplain; he was never wont to be absent when 
I meat was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted; and it is 
his duty to take care of these tithes of our successful en- 
I terprise. It may be the office has helped to cover some 
of his canonical irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother 
of his a prisoner at no great distance, and I would fain 
have the Friar to help me to deal with him in due sort. 
I greatly misdoubt the safety of the bluff priest.” 

“I were right sorry for that,” said the Knight of the 
Fetterlock, “ for I stand indebted to him for the joyous 
hospitality of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the 
ruins of the castle; it may be we shall there learn some 
tidings of him.” 

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen 
announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, as 
they learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar him- 
self, long before they saw his burly person. 

“ Make room, my merry men ! ” he exclaimed — “ room 
for your godly father and his prisoner. Cry welcome 

I once more. I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my 
prey in my clutch.” And making his way through the 
ring, amidst the laughter of all around, he appeared in 
majestic triumph, his huge partizan in one hand, and in 
the other a halter, one end of which was fastened to the 
neck of the unfortunate Isaac of York, who, bent down 
by sorrow and terror, was dragged on by the victorious 
priest, who shouted aloud, “ Where is Allan-a-Dale, to 
chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay? By St. 
Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out of the way 
where there is an apt theme for exalting valor ! ” 

“ Curtal priest,” said the captain, “ thou hast been at a 
wet mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name of 
St. Nicholas, whom hast thou got here?” 

“A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble cap- 


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Ivanhoe 


37 ° 

tain,” replied the clerk of Copmanhurst — “ to my bow and 
to my halbred, I should rather say; and yet I have re- ;; 
deemed him by my divinity from a worse captivity. . 
Speak, Jew — have I not ransomed thee from Sathanas ? }• 
5 — have I not taught thee thy credo, thy pater, and thine | 
Ave Maria? Did I not spend the whole night in drinking 
to thee, and in expounding of mysteries ? ” 

“ For the love of God ! ” ejaculated the poor Jew, “ will 
no one take me out- of the keeping of this mad — I mean 
10 this holy man ? ” 

“How’s this, Jew?” said the Friar, with a menacing 
aspect; “dost thou recant, Jew? Bethink thee, if thou 
dost relapse into thine infidelity, though thou art not so 
tender as a suckling pig — I would I had one to break 
15 my fast upon — thou art not too tough to be roasted ! Be 
conformable, Isaac, and repeat the words after me. Ave 
Maria ! — ” 

“ Nay, we will have no profanation, mad priest,” said 
Locksley ; “ let us rather hear where you found this pris- f 
20 oner of thine.” 

“ By St. Dunstan,” said the Friar, “ I found him where | 

I sought for better ware! I did step into the cellarage j 
to see what might be rescued there; for though a cup of? 
burnt wine, with spice, be an evening’s draught for an em- 
25 peror, it were waste, methought, to let so much good 
liquor be mulled at once; and I had caught up one runlet f 
of sack, and was coming to call more aid among these! 
lazy knaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed is 
to be done, when I was avised of a strong door. “ Aha ! ”1 
30 thought I, “ here is the choicest juice of all in this secreti, 
crypt; and, the knave butler, being disturbed in his voca-| 
tion, hath left the key in the door.” In therefore I went, 1 ; 
and found just naught besides a commodity of rusted 
chains and this dog of a Jew, who presently rendered 
35 himself my prisoner, rescue or no rescue. I did but re- 
fresh myself after the fatigue of the action with the unbe-j 
liever with one humming cup of sack, and was proceed- 
ing to lead forth my captive, when, crash after crash, as 


Ivanhoe 


37i 

with wild thunder-dint and levin-fire, down toppled the 
masonry of an outer tower — marry beshrew their hands 
that built it not the firmer ! — and blocked up the passage. 
The roar of one falling tower followed another. I gave 
up thought of life; and deeming it a dishonor to one of 
my profession to pass out of this world in company with 
a Jew, I heaved up my halbred to beat his brains out; but 
I took pity on his gray hairs, and judged it better to lay 
down the partizan, and take up my spiritual weapon for 
his conversion. And truly, by the blessing of St. Dunstan, 
the seed has been sown in good soil ; only that, with speak- 
ing to him of mysteries through the whole night, and 
being in a manner fasting — for the few draughts of sack 
which I sharpened my wits with were not worth marking 
— my head is well-nigh dizzied, I trow. But I was clean 
exhausted. Gilbert and Wibbald know in what state they 
found me — quite and clean exhausted.” 

“We can bear witness,” said Gilbert; “for when we 
had cleared away the ruin, and by St. Dunstan’s help 
lighted upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of 
sack half-empty, the Jew half-dead, and the Friar more 
than half — exhausted, as he calls it.” 

“Ye be knaves! ye lie!” retorted the offended Friar; 
“ it was you and your gormandizing companions that 
drank up the sack, and called it your morning draught. 
I am a pagan, an I kept it not for the captain’s own 
throat. But what recks it? The Jew is converted, and 
understands all I have told him, very nearly, if not alto- 
gether, as well as myself.” 

“Jew,” said the captain, “is this true? Hast thou re- 
nounced thine unbelief?” 

“ May I so find mercy in your eyes,” said the Jew, “ as 
I know not one word which the reverend prelate spake to 
me all this fearful night. Alas ! I was so distraught with 
agony, and fear, and grief, that had our holy father Abra- 
ham come to preach to me, he had found but a deaf lis- 
tener.” 

“ Thou best, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,” said 


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Ivanhoe 


372 

the Friar ; “ I will remind thee but of one word of our 
conference: thou didst promise to give all thy substance 
to our holy order/’ 

“ So help me the promise, fair sirs,” said Isaac, even 
5 more alarmed than before, “ as no such sounds ever 
crossed my lips ! Alas ! I am an aged beggar’d ?ian 
— I fear me a childless ; have ruth on me, and let me 
go!” 

“ Nay,” said the Friar, “ if thou dost retract vows made 
10 in favor of holy church, thou must do penance.” 

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid 
the staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not the 
Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred 
the holy clerk’s resentment to himself. 

15 “ By St. Thomas of Kent,” said he, “ an I buckle to 

my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with 
thine own matters, maugre thine iron case there ! ” 

“Nay, be not wroth with me,” said the Knight; “thou 
knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.” 

20 “I know no such thing,” answered the Friar; “and 
defy thee for a meddling coxcomb ! ” 

“ Nay, but,” said the Knight, who seemed to take a 
pleasure in provoking his quondam host, “ hast thou for- 
gotten how, that for my sake — for I say nothing of the 
25 temptation of the flagon and the pasty — thou didst break 
thy vow of fast and vigil ? ” 

“Truly, friend,” said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, 
“ I will bestow a buffet on thee.” 

“ I accept of no such presents,” said the Knight ; “ I am 
30 content to take thy cuff as a loan, but- 1 will repay thee 
with usury as deep as ever thy prisoner there exacted in 
his traffic.” 

“ I will prove that presently,” said the Friar. 

“ Hola ! ” cried the captain, “ what art thou after, mad 
35 Friar — brawling beneath our trysting-tree ? ” 

“No brawling,” said the Knight; “it is but a friendly 
interchange of courtesy. Friar, strike an thou darest; I 
will stand thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.” 

“Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy 


Ivanhoe 


373 

; head,” said the churchman ; “ but have at thee. Down 
thou goest, an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen 
helmet.” 

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and 
'putting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a 
buffet that might have felled an ox. But his adversary 
stood firm as a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all 
the yeomen around; for the clerk’s cuff was proverbial 
amongst them, and there were few who, in jest or earnest, 
had not had occasion to know its vigor. 

“ Now, priest,” said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, 
“ if I had vantage on my head, I will have none on my 
I hand ; stand fast as a true man.” 

. “ Genam meam dedi vapulatori — I have given my cheek 
to the smiter,” said the priest; “an thou canst stir me 
from the spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the 
| Jew’s ransom.” 

So spoke the burly priest, assuming, on his part, high 
defiance. But who may resist his fate? The buffet of 
the Knight was given with such strength and good-will 
that the Friar rolled head over heels upon the plain, to the 
great amazement of all the spectators. But he arose 
neither angry nor crestfallen. 

“ Brother,” said he to the Knight, “ thou shouldst have 
used thy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled 
but a lame mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the 
piper plays ill that wants the nether chops. Nevertheless, 
there is my hand, in friendly witness that I will exchange 
no more cuffs with thee, having been a loser by the bar- 
ter. End now all unkindness. Let us put the Jew to 
ransom, since the leopard will not change his spots, and a 
Jew he will continue to be.” 

“ The priest,” said Clement, “ is not half so confident 
of the Jew’s conversion since he received that buffet on 
the ear.” 

“Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions? 
What, is there no respect? — all masters and no men? 
I tell thee, fellow, I was somewhat totty when I received 
the good knight’s blow, or I had kept my ground under it. 


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374 Ivanhoe 

But an thou gibest more of it, thou shalt learn I can give ' ,; 
as well as take.” 

“Peace all!” said the captain. “And thou, Jew, think; 
of thy ransom; thou needest not to be told that thy racej j 
5 are held to be accursed in all Christian communities, and! j 
trust me that we cannot endure thy presence among us.H 
Think, therefore, of an offer, while I examine a prisoner! 
of another cast.” 

“Were many of Front-de-Boeuf’s men taken?” de-j| 
10 manded the Black Knight. 

“ None of note enough to be put to ransom,” answered i 
the captain ; “ a set of hilding fellows there were, whom - 
we dismissed to find them a new master; enough had been| 
done for revenge and profit; the bunch of them were notj 
15 worth a cardecu. The prisoner I speak of is better booty 
— a jolly monk riding to visit his leman, an I may judge* 
by his horse-gear and wearing apparel. Here cometh the* 
worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.” And between two yeo-|f 
men was brought before the silvan throne of the outlaw 
20 chief our old friend, Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


Flower of warriors, 

How is’t with Titus Lartius? 

Marcius. As with a man busied about decrees, 
Condemning some to death and some to exile, 
Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other. 

i Coriolanus. 

The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited a 
whimsical mixture of offended pride, and deranged fop- 
pery, and bodily terror. 

“ Why, how now, my masters ? ” said he, with a voice 
in which all three emotions were blended. “ What order 
is this among ye? Be ye Turks or Christians, that handle 
a churchman? Know ye what it is, manus imponere in 
servos Domini f Ye have plundered my mails, torn my 
cope of curious cut lace, which might have served a 
cardinal. Another in my place would have been at his 
excommunicabo vos; but I am placable, and if ye order 
forth my palfreys, release my brethren, and restore my 
mails, tell down with all speed an hundred crowns to be 
expended in masses at the high altar of Jorvaulx Abbey, 
and make your vow to eat no venison until next Pente- 
cost, it may be you shall hear little more of this mad 
frolic.” 

“ Holy father,” said the chief outlaw, “ it grieves me to 
think that you have met with such usage from any of my 
followers as calls for your fatherly reprehension.” 

“ Usage ! ” echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild 
tone of the silvan leader ; “ it were usage fit for no hound 
of good race, much less for a Christian, far less for a 
priest, and least of all for the prior of the holy community 
of Jorvaulx. Here is a profane and drunken minstrel, 

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Ivanhoe 


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called Allan-a-Dale — nebulo quidam — who has menaced 
me with corporal punishment — nay, with death itself, 
an I pay not down four hundred crowns of ransom, to the 
boot of all the treasure he hath already robbed me of — 
5 gold chains and gymmal rings to an unknown value; be- 
sides what is broken and spoiled among their rude hands, 
such as my pouncet-box and silver crisping-tongs.” 

“ It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus 
treated a man of your reverend bearing,” replied the cap- 
10 tain. 

“ It is true as the gospel of St. Nicodemus,” said the 
Prior ; “ he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, 
that he would hang me up on the highest tree in the 
greenwood.” 

15 “Did he so in very deed? Nay, then, reverend father, 
I think you had better comply with his demands, for 
Allan-a-Dale is the very man to abide by his word when 
he has so pledged it.” 

“You do but jest with me,” said the astounded Prior, 
20 with a forced laugh; “ and I love a good jest with all my 
heart. But, ha ! ha ! ha ! when the mirth has lasted the 
livelong night, it is time to be grave in the morning.” 

“ And I am as grave as a father confessor,” replied the 
outlaw ; “ you must pay a round ransom, Sir Prior, or 
your convent is likely to be called to a new election; for 
your place will know you no more.” 

“Are ye Christians,” said the Prior, “and hold this 
language to a churchman ? ” 

“ Christians ! aye, marry are we, and have divinity 
among us to boot,” answered the outlaw. “Let our 
buxom chaplain stand forth, and expound to this reverend 
father the texts which concern this matter.” 

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar’s 
frock over his green cassock, and now summoning to- 
35 gether whatever scraps of learning he had acquired by 
rote in former days— “Ploly father,” said he, “Dens 
faciat salvam benignitatem vestram — you are welcome to 
the greenwood.” 

“What profane mummery is this?” said the Prior, 




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Ivanhoe 


377 

i 

“ Friend, if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a bet- 
! ter deed to show me how I may escape from these men’s 
i hands than to stand ducking and grinning here like a mor- 
ris-dancer.” 

“ Truly, reverend father,” said the Friar, “ I know but 
p one mode in which thou mayst escape. This is St. An- 
| drew’s day with us : we are taking our tithes.” 

“ But not of the church, then, I trust, my good 
' brother ? ” said the Prior. 

“Of church and lay,” said the Friar; “and therefore, 
Sir Prior, facite vobis amicos de mammone iniquitatis — 
make yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteous- 
ness, for no other friendship is like to serve your turn.” 

“ I love a jolly woodsman at heart,” said the Prior, 
softening his tone ; “ come, ye must not deal too hard with 
jj me. I can well of woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear 
! and lustily, and hollo till every oak rings again. Come, 

! ye must not deal too hard with me.” 

“ Give him a horn,” said the outlaw ; “ we will prove 
. the skill he boasts of.” 

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The 
j captain shook his head. 

“ Sir Prior,” he said, “ thou blowest a merry note, but 
I it may not ransom thee ; we cannot afford, as the legend 
i on a good knight’s shield hath it, to set thee free for a 
j; blast. Moreover, I have found thee : thou art one of those 
who, with new French graces and tra-li-ras, disturb the 
Ij ancient English bugle notes. Prior, that last flourish on 
i| the recheat hath added fifty crowns to thy ransom, for 
i| corrupting the true old manly blasts of venerie.” 

“ Well, friend,” said the Abbot, peevishly, “ thou art ill 
to please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more con- 
! formable in this matter of my ransom. At a word — 
jj since I must needs, for once, hold a candle to the devil — 
what ransom am I to pay for walking on Watling Street 
without having fifty men at my back?” 

“ Were it not well,” said the lieutenant of the gang 
j apart to the captain, “ that the Prior should name the 
Jew’s ransom, and the Jew name the Prior’s ? ” 


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Ivanhoe 


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“ Thou art a mad knave,” said the captain, “ but thy 
plan transcends ! Here, Jew, step forth. Look at that 
holy Father Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx, 
and tell us at what ransom we should hold him? Thou 
5 knowest the income of his convent, I warrant thee.” 

“ O, assuredly,” said Isaac. “ I have trafficked with the 
good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of 
the earth, and also much wool. O, it is a rich abbey- 
stede, and they do live upon the fat, and drink the sweet 
10 wines upon the lees, these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, 
if an outcast like me had such a home to go to, and such 
incomings by the year and by the month, I would pay 
much gold and silver to redeem my captivity.” 

“ Hound of a Jew ! ” exclaimed the Prior, “ no one 
15 knows better than thy own cursed self that our holy house 
of God is indebted for the finishing of our chancel — ” 

“ And for the storing of your cellars in the last season 
with the due allowance of Gascon wine,” interrupted the 
Jew; “but that — that is small matters.” 

20 “ Hear the infidel dog ! ” said the churchman ; “ he 

jangles as if our holy community did come under debts 
for the wines we have a license to drink propter necessi- 
tatem et ad frigus depellendum. The circumcised villain 
blasphemeth the holy church, and Christian men listen 
25 and rebuke him not ! ” 

“ And this helps nothing,” said the leader. “ Isaac, pro- 
nounce what he may pay, without flaying both hide and 
hair.” 

“ An six hundred crowns,” said Isaac, “ the good Prior 
30 might well pay to your honored valors, and never sit less 
soft in his stall.” 

“ Six hundred crowns,” said the leader, gravely ; “ I am 
contented — thou hast well spoken, Isaac — six hundred 
crowns. It is a sentence, Sir Prior.” 

35 “ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” exclaimed the band ; 

“ Solomon had not done it better.” 

“ Thou hearest thy doom, Prior,” said the leader. 

“Ye are mad, my masters,” said the Prior; “where am 
I to find such a sum? If I sell the very pyx and candle- 


Ivanhoe 


379 

sticks on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise the 
half ; and it will be necessary for that purpose that I go to 
Jorvaulx myself; ye may retain as borrows my two 
j priests.” 

“ That will be but blind trust,” said the outlaw ; “ we will 
retain thee, Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. 
Thou shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop of veni- 
son the while; and if thou lovest woodcraft, thou shalt 
see such as your north country never witnessed.” 

“ Or, if so please you,” said Isaac, willing to curry 
favor with the outlaws, “ I can send to York for the six 
! hundred crowns, out of certain moneys in my hands, if so 
be that the most reverend Prior present will grant me a 
quittance.” 

“ He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,” 
| said the captain ; “ and thou shalt lay down the redemp- 
tion money for Prior Aymer as well as for thyself.” 

“ For myself ! ah, courageous sirs,” said the Jew, “ I am 
a broken and impoverished man; a beggar’s staff must be 
my portion through life, supposing I were to pay you fifty 
crowns.” 

“ The Prior shall judge of that matter,” replied the cap- 
tain. “How say you, Father Aymer? Can the Jew af- 
ford a good ransom ? ” 

“ Can he afford a ransom ? ” answered the Prior. “ Is 
he not Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity 
of the ten tribes of Israel who were led into Assyrian 
bondage? I have seen but little of him myself, but our 
cellarer and treasurer have dealt largely with him, and 
report says that his house at York is so full of gold and 
silver as is a shame in any Christian land. Marvel it is 
to all living Christian hearts that -such gnawing adders 
should be suffered to eat into the bowels of the state, and 
even of the holy church herself, with foul usuries and 
extortions.” 

“ Hold, father,” said the Jew, “ mitigate and assuage 
your choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that 
I force my moneys upon no one. But when churchman 
and layman, prince and prior, knight and priest, come 


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Ivanhoe 


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knocking to Isaac’s door, they borrow not his shekels with 
these uncivil terms. It is then, ‘ Friend Isaac, will you 
pleasure us in this matter, and our day shall be truly kept, 
so God sa’ me?’ — and ‘Kind Isaac, if ever you served 
5 man, show yourself a friend in this need ! ’ And when 
the day comes, and I ask my own, then what hear I but 
‘ Damned Jew,’ and ‘ The curse of Egypt on your tribe,’ 
and all that may stir up the rude and uncivil populace 
against poor strangers ! ” 

10 “ Prior,” said the captain, “ Jew though he be, he hath 

in this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, 
as he named thine, without farther rude terms.” 

“ None but latro famosus — the interpretation whereof,” 
said the Prior, “ will I give at some other time and tide — 
15 would place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew 
upon the same bench. But since ye require me to put a 
price upon this caitiff, I tell you openly that ye will wrong 
yourselves if you take from him a penny under a thousand 
crowns.” 

20 “ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” exclaimed the chief out- 

law. 

“ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” shouted his assessors ; 
“ the Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with 
us more generously than the Jew.” 

25 “ The God of my fathers help me ! ” said the Jew; “ will 

ye bear to the ground an impoverished creature? I am 
this day childless, and will ye deprive me of the means of 
livelihood ? ” 

“ Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou 
30 art childless,” said Aymer. 

“ Alas ! my lord,” said Isaac, “ your law permits you 
not to know how the .child of our bosom is entwined with 
the strings of our heart. O Rebecca! daughter of my 
beloved Rachael ! were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, 
35 and each zecchin mine own, all that mass of wealth would 
I give to know whether thou art alive, and escaped the 
hands of the Nazarene ! ” 

“Was not thy daughter dark-haired?” said one of the 


Ivanhoe 381 

outlaws ; “ and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal, 
broidered with silver ? ” 

“ She did ! — she did ! ” said the old man, trembling 
with eagerness, as formerly with fear. “ The blessing of 
Jacob be upon thee! canst thou tell me aught of her 
safety ? ” 

“ It was she, then,” said the yeoman, “ who was carried 
off by the proud Templar, when he broke through our 
ranks on yestereven. I had drawn my bow to send a shaft 
after him, but spared him even for the sake of the damsel, 
who I feared might take harm from the arrow.” 

“ Oh ! ” answered the Jew, “ I would to God thou hadst 
shot, though the arrow had pierced her bosom ! Better 
the tomb of her fathers than the dishonorable couch of the 
licentious and savage Templar. Ichabod! Ichabod ! the 
glory hath departed from my house ! ” 

“ Friends,” said the chief, looking round, “ the old man 
is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me. Deal up- 
rightly with us, Isaac : will paying this ransom of a thou- 
sand crowns leave thee altogether penniless?” 

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love of 
which, by dint ot inveterate habit, contended even with 
his parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and could 
not deny there might be some small surplus. 

“ Well, go to, what though there be,” said the outlaw, 
“ we will not reckon with thee too closely. Without treas- 
ure thou mayst as well hope to redeem thy child from the 
clutches of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert as to shoot a stag- 
royal with a headless shaft. We will take thee at the 
same ransom with Prior Aymer, or rather at one hun- 
dred crowns lower, which hundred crowns shall be mine 
own peculiar loss, and not light upon this worshipful com- 
munity; and so we shall avoid the heinous offense of 
rating a Jew merchant as high as a Christian prelate, and 
thou wilt have six [five] hundred crowns remaining to 
treat for thy daughter’s ransom. Templars love the glit- 
ter of silver shekels as well as the sparkle of black eyes. 
Hasten to make thy crowns chink in the ear of De 


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Ivanhoe 


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Bois-Guilbert, ere worse comes of it. Thou wilt find 
him, as our scouts have brought notice, at the next 
preceptory house of his order. Said I well, my merry 1 
mates ? ” 

5 The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in 
their leader’s opinion; and Isaac, relieved of one half of I 
his apprehensions, by learning that his daughter lived, and 1 
might possibly be ransomed, threw himself at the feet of 
the generous outlaw, and, rubbing his beard against his 
10 buskins, sought to kiss the hem of his green cassock. The j 
captain drew himself back, and extricated himself from i 
the Jew’s grasp, not without some marks of contempt. 

“ Nay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee ! I am Eng- 1 
lish born, and love no such Eastern prostrations. Kneel ] 
15 to God, and not to a poor sinner like me.” 

“ Aye, Jew,” said Prior Aymer, “ kneel to God, as rep- | 
resented in the servant of His altar, and who knows, with j 
thy sincere repentance and due gifts to the shrine of St. 
Robert, what grace thou mayst acquire for thyself and ] 
20 thy daughter Rebecca? I grieve for the maiden, for she i 
is of fair and comely countenance: I beheld her in the j 
lists of Ashby. Also Brian de Bois-Guilbert is one with 
whom I may do much : bethink thee how thou mayst de- J 
serve my good word with him.” 

25 “ Alas ! alas ! ” said the Jew, “ on every hand the spoilers 1 

arise against me : I am given as a prey unto the Assyrian, j 
and a prey unto him of Egypt.” 

“ And what else should be the lot of thy accursed j 
race?” answered the Prior; “for what saith Holy Writ, I 
30 verbum Domini projecerunt, et sapientia est nulla in eis — ] 
they have cast forth the Word of the Lord, and there is ! 
no wisdom in them — propterea dabo mulieres eorum ex- 1 
teris — I will give their women to strangers, that is to the i 
Templar, as in the present matter — et thesauros eorum i 
35 hcere dibits alienis — and their treasures to others, as in j 
the present case to these honest gentlemen.” 

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, ] 
and to relapse into his state of desolation and despair. 
But the leader of the yeomen led him aside. 


Ivanhoe 


383 

“ Advise thee well, Isaac,” said Locksley, “ what thou 
wilt do in this matter; my counsel to thee is to make a 
friend of this churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is 
covetous ; at least he needs money to supply his profusion. 
Thou canst easily gratify his greed; for think not that I 
am blinded by thy pretexts of poverty. I am intimately 
acquainted, Isaac, with the very iron chest in which thou 
dost keep thy money-bags. What! know I not the great 
stone beneath the apple-tree, that leads into the vaulted 
chamber under thy garden at York?” The Jew grew as 
pale as death. “ But fear nothing from me,” continued 
the yeoman, “ for we are of old acquainted. Dost thou 
not remember the sick yeoman whom thy fair daughter 
Rebecca redeemed from the gyves at York, and kept him 
in thy house till his health was restored, when thou didst 
dismiss him recovered, and with a piece of money? 
Usurer as thou art, thou didst never place coin at better 
interest than that poor silver mark, for it has this day 
saved thee five hundred crowns.” 

“ And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the- 
Bow ? ” said Isaac ; “ I thought ever I knew the accent of 
thy voice.” 

“ I am Bend-the-Bow,” said the captain, “ and Locks- 
ley, and have a good name besides all these.” 

“ But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concern- 
ing that same vaulted apartment. So help me Heaven, 
as there is naught in it but some merchandises which I 
will gladly part with to you — one hundred yards of Lin- 
coln green to make doublets to thy men, and a hundred 
staves of Spanish yew to make bows, and one hundred 
silken bowstrings, tough, round, and sound — these will 
I send thee for thy good-will, honest Diccon, an thou wilt 
keep silence about the vault, my good Diccon.” 

“Silent as a dormouse,” said the outlaw; “and never 
trust me but I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may 
not help it. The Templar’s lances are too strong for my 
archery in the open field; they would scatter us like dust. 
Had I but known it was Rebecca when she was borne off, 
something might have been done; but now thou must 


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384 Ivanhoe 

needs proceed by policy. Come, shall I treat for thee with 
the Prior ? ” 

“ In God’s name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to re- 
cover the child of my bosom ! ” 

5 “ Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed avarice; ” 

said the outlaw, “ and I will deal with him in thy be- 
half.” 

He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, how-:.j 
ever, as closely as his shadow. 

10 “ Prior Aymer,” said the captain, “ come apart with me 

under this tree. Men say thou dost love wine and a lady’s 
smile better than beseems thy order, Sir Priest; but with 
that I have naught to do. I have heard, too, thou dost 
love a brace of good dogs and a fleet horse, and it may 
15 well be that, loving things which are costly to come by, j 
thou hatest not a purse of gold. But I have never heard 
that thou didst love oppression or cruelty. Now, here is 
Isaac willing to give thee the means of pleasure and pastime 
in a bag containing one hundred marks of silver, if thy 
20 intercession with thine ally the Templar shall avail to 
procure the freedom of his daughter.” 

“ In safety and honor, as when taken from me,” said 
the Jew, “ otherwise it is no bargain.” 

“ Peace, Isaac,” said the outlaw, “ or I give up thine 
25 interest. What say you to this my purpose. Prior Ay- 
mer? ” 

“ The matter,” quoth the Prior, “ is of a mixed condi- i 
tion; for, if I do a good deed on the one hand, yet, on the 
other, it goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so much' * 
30 is against my conscience. Yet, if the Israelite will ad- ■' 
vantage the church by giving me somewhat over to the 
building of our dortour, I will take it on my conscience I 
to aid him in the matter of his daughter.” 

“ For a score of marks to the dortour,” said the outlaw 
35 — “ Be still, I say, Isaac ! — or for a brace of silver can- ^ 
dlesticks to the altar, we will not stand with you.” 

“ Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow,” said Isaac, f 
endeavoring to interpose. 

“ Good Jew — good beast — good earthworm ! ” said the 


Ivanhoe 385 

yeoman, losing patience ; “ an thou dost go on to put thy 
filthy lucre in the balance with thy daughter’s life and 

( honor, by Heaven, I will strip thee of every maravedi thou 
} hast in the world before three days are out ! ” 

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent. 

“ And what pledge am I to have for all this ? ” said the 

I "I Prior. 

“ When Isaac returns successful through your media- 
tion,” said the outlaw, “ I swear by St. Hubert, I will see 
I that he pays thee the money in good silver, or I will 
reckon with him for it in such sort, he had better have 
I paid twenty such sums.” 

“ Well then, Jew,” said Aymer, “ since I must needs 
I meddle in this matter, let me have the use of thy writing- 
I tablets — though, hold — rather than use thy pen, I would 
|j fast for twenty-four hours, and where shall I find one ? ” 
“ If your holy scruples can dispense with using the 
I Jew’s tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,” said the 
■ yeoman; and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft at a 
I wild goose which was soaring over their heads, the ad- 
I vanced guard of a phalanx of his tribe, which were wing- 
11 ing their way to the distant and solitary fens of Holder- 
llness. The bird came fluttering down, transfixed with the 
I: arrow. 

“ There, Prior,” said the captain, “ are quills enow to 
■•supply all the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hundred 
■ years, an they take not to writing chronicles.” 

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indited an 
I epistle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully 
I sealed up the tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying, 
I “ This will be thy safe-conduct to the preceptory of Tem- 
* plestowe, and, as I think, is most likely to accomplish the 
• delivery of thy daughter, if it be well backed with prof- 
$1 fers of advantage and commodity at thine own hand ; for, 
cl trust me well, the good knight Bois-Guilbert is of their 
I confraternity that do naught for naught.” 

“ Well, Prior,” said the outlaw, “ I will detain thee no 
I longer here than to give the Jew a quittance for the six 
1 hundred crowns at which thy ransom is fixed — I accept 


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Ivanhoe 


386 

of him for my paymaster; and if I hear that ye boggle at 
allowing him in his accompts the sum so paid by him, St. |i 
Mary refuse me, an I burn not the abbey over thine head, $ii 
though I hang ten years the sooner ! ” 

5 With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had ; 
penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an L 
acquittance, discharging Isaac of York of six hundred 
crowns, advanced to him in his need for acquittal of his j 
ransom, and faithfully promising to hold true compt with 
10 him for that sum. 

“ And now/’ said Prior Aymer, “ I will pray you of j 
restitution of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of 
the reverend brethren attending upon me, and also of the 
gymmal rings, jewels, and fair vestures of which I have ; j 
15 been despoiled, having now satisfied you for my ransom 
as a true prisoner.” 

“ Touching your brethren, Sir Prior,” said Locksley, ‘ i 
“ they shall have present freedom, it were unjust to de- I 
tain them ; touching your horses and mules, they shall ] 
20 also be restored, with such spending-money as may enable jl 
you to reach York, for it were cruel to deprive you of" ij 
the means of journeying. But as concerning rings, jew-- 1 ] 
els, chains, and what else, you must understand that we i 
are men of tender consciences, and will not yield to a j 
25 venerable man like yourself, who should be dead to the 1 
vanities of this life, the strong temptation to break the 
rule of his foundation, by wearing rings, chains, or other | 
vain gauds.” 

“ Think what you do, my masters,” said the Prior, “ ere j 
30 you put your hand on the church’s patrimony. These I 
things are inter res sacras, and I wot not what judg- 
ment might ensue were they to be handled by laical j 
hands.” 

“ I will take care of that, reverend Prior,” said the \ 
35 hermit of Copmanhurst ; “ for I will wear them myself.” | 

“ Friend, or brother,” said the Prior, in answer to this 
solution of his doubts, “ if thou hast really taken religious 
orders, I pray thee to look how thou wilt answer to 


Ivanhoe 


387 






thine official for the share thou hast taken in this day’s 
work.” 

“ Friend Prior,” returned the hermit, “you are to know 
that I belong to a little diocese where I am my own 
diocesan, and care as little for the Bishop of York as I 5 
do for the Abbot of Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the con- 
vent.” 

“ Thou art utterly irregular,” said the Prior — “ one of 
those disorderly men who, taking on them the sacred 
character without due cause, profane the holy rites, and 10 
endanger the souls of those who take counsel at their 
hands ; lapides pro pane condonantes its, giving them 
stones instead of bread, as the Vulgate hath it.” 

“ Nay,” said the Friar, “ an my brain-pan could have 
been broken by Latin, it had not held so long together. 15 
I say, that easing a world of such misproud priests as thou 
art of their jewels and their gimcracks is a lawful spoil- 
ing of the Egyptians.” 

“ Thou be’st a hedge-priest,” said the Prior, in great 
wrath, “ excommunicabo vos 20 

“ Thou be’st thyself more like a thief and a heretic,” 
said the Friar, equally indignant ; “ I will pouch up no 
such affront before my parishioners as thou thinkest it 
not shame to put upon me, although I be a reverend 
brother to thee. Ossa ejus perfringam, I will break your 25 
bones, as the Vulgate hath it.” 

“ Hola ! ” cried the captain, “ come the reverend breth- 
ren to such terms? Keep thine assurance of peace, Friar. 
Prior, an thou hast not made thy peace perfect with God, 
provoke the Friar no further. Hermit, let the reverend 30 
father depart in peace, as a ransomed man.” 

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who con- 
tinued to raise their voices, vituperating each other in 
bad Latin, which the Prior delivered the more fluently, 
and the hermit with the greater vehemence. The Prior 35 
at length recollected himself sufficiently to be aware that 
he was compromising his dignity by squabbling with such 
a hedge-priest as the outlaw’s chaplain, and being joined 


Ivanhoe 


388 

by his attendants, rode off with considerably less pomp, 
and in a much more apostolical condition, so far as 
worldly matters were concerned, than he had exhibited 
before this rencounter. 

5 It remained that the Jew should produce some security 
for the ransom which he was to pay on the Prior’s ac- 
count, as well as upon his own. He gave, accordingly, 
an order sealed with his signet, to a brother of his tribe 
at York, requiring him to pay to the bearer the sum of a 
10 thousand [eleven hundred] crowns, and to deliver certain 
merchandises specified in the note. 

“ My brother Sheva,” he said, groaning deeply, “ hath 
the key of my warehouses.” 

“ And of the vaulted chamber,” whispered Locksley. 

15 “ No, no — may Heaven forefend ! ” said Isaac ; “ evil 

is the hour that let any one whomsoever into that se- 
cret ! ” 

“ It is safe with me,” said the outlaw, “ so be that this 
thy scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set 
20 down. But what now, Isaac? art dead? art stupefied? 
hath the payment of a thousand crowns put thy daughter’s 
peril out of thy mind ? ” 

The Jew started to his feet — “No, Diccon, no; I will 
presently set forth. Farewell, thou whom I may not call 
25 good, and dare not, and will not, call evil.” 

Yet, ere Isaac departed, the outlaw chief bestowed on 
him this parting advice: “Be liberal of thine offers, 
Isaac, and spare not thy purse for thy daughter’s safety. 
Credit me, that the gold thou shalt spare in her cause will 
30 hereafter give thee as much agony as if it were poured 
molten down thy throat.” 

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on 
his journey, accompanied by two tall foresters, who were 
to be his guides, and at the same time his guards, through 
35 the wood. 

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small interest 
these various proceedings, now took his leave of the out- 
law in turn ; nor could he avoid expressing his surprise 
at having witnessed so much of civil policy amongst per- 


Ivanhoe 389 

sons cast out from all the ordinary protection and influ- 
ence of the laws. 

“ Good fruit, Sir Knight/’ said the yeoman, “ will some- 
times grow on a sorry tree ; and evil times are not always 
productive of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst those 
who are drawn into this lawless state, there are, doubtless, 
numbers who wish to exercise its license with some mod- 
eration, and some who regret, it may be, that they are 
obliged to follow such a trade at all.” 

“ And to one of those,” said the Knight, “ I am now, 
I presume, speaking?” 

“ Sir Knight,” said the outlaw, “ we have each our se- 
cret. You are welcome to form your judgment of me, 
and I may use my conjectures touching you, though neither 
of our shafts may hit the mark they are shot at. But as 
I do not pray to be admitted into your mystery, be not 
offended that I preserve my own.” 

“ I crave pardon, brave outlaw,” said the Knight, “ your 
reproof is just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter 
with less of concealment on either side. Meanwhile we 
part friends, do we not?” 

“ There is my hand upon it,” said Locksley ; “ and I 
will call it the hand of a true Englishman, though an out- 
law for the present.” 

“ And there is mine in return,” said the Knight, “ and 
I hold it honored by being clasped with yours. For he 
that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, 
deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, 
but for the evil which he forbears. Fare thee well, gal- 
lant outlaw ! ” 

Thus parted that fair fellowship; and he of the Fetter- 
lock, mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode off through 
the forest. 


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60 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


King John. I’ll tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way; 

And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread, 

He lies before me. Dost thou understand me? 

King John. 

There was brave feasting in the Castle of York, to which 
Prince John had invited those nobles, prelates, and leaders | 
by whose assistance he hoped to carry through his am- 
bitious projects upon his brother’s throne. Waldemar j 
5 Fitzurse, his able and politic agent, was at secret work 
among them, tempering all to that pitch of courage which I 
was necessary in making an open declaration of their 1 
purpose. But their enterprise was delayed by the absence j 
of more than one main limb of the confederacy. The I 
10 stubborn and daring, though brutal, courage of Front- I 
de-Bceuf; the buoyant spirits and bold bearing of De ] 
Bracy; the sagacity, martial experience, and renowned j 
valor of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were important to the I 
success of their conspiracy; and, while cursing in secret 1 
15 their unnecessary and unmeaning absence, neither John 
nor his adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the j 
Jew also seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope 
of certain sums of money, making up the subsidy for ; 
which Prince John had contracted with that Israelite and 1 
20 his brethren. This deficiency was likely to prove perilous 
in an emergency so critical. 

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, i 
that a confused report began to spread abroad in the city 
of York that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their con- 
25 federate Front-de-Boeuf, had been taken or slain. Walde- j 
mar brought the rumor to Prince John, announcing, that 
390 


Ivanhoe 


39i 

he feared its truth the more that they had set out with 
a small attendance, for the purpose of committing an 
assault on the Saxon Cedric and his attendants. At an- 
other time the Prince would have treated this deed of 
violence as a good jest; but now that it interfered with 
and impeded his own plans, he exclaimed against the 
perpetrators, and spoke of the broken laws, and the in- 
fringement of public order and of private property, in a 
tone which might have become King Alfred. 

“ The unprincipled marauders ! ” he said ; “ were I ever 
to become monarch of England, I would hang such trans- 
gressors over the drawbridges of their own castles.” 

“ But to become monarch of England,” said his Ahitho- 
phel, coolly, “ it is necessary not only that your Grace 
should endure the transgressions of these unprincipled 
marauders, but that you should afford them your pro- 
tection, notwithstanding your laudable zeal for the laws 
they are in the habit of infringing. We shall be finely 
helped, if the churl Saxons should have realized your 
Grace’s vision of converting feudal drawbridges into gib- 
bets; and yonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to 
whom such an imagination might occur. Your Grace is 
well aware, it will be dangerous to stir without Front-de- 
Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar; and yet we have gone 
too far to recede with, safety.” 

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and 
then began to stride up and down the apartment. 

“ The villains,” he said — “ the base, treacherous vil- 
lains, to desert me at this pinch ! ” 

“ Nay, say rather the feather-pated, giddy madmen,” 
said Waldemar, “ who must be toying with follies when 
such business was in hand.” 

“ What is to be done ? ” said the Prince, stopping short 
before Waldemar. 

“ I know nothing which can be done,” answered his 
counselor, “ save that which I have already taken order 
for. I came not to bewail this evil chance with your 
Grace until I had done my best to remedy it.” 

“Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,” said the 


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392 Ivanhoe 

Prince ; “ and when I have such a chancellor to advise \ ( 
withal, the reign of John will be renowned in our annals.lj 
What hast thou commanded ? ” 

“ I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s lieu-* 
5 tenant, to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to dis-pj 
play his banner, and to set presently forth towards the p 
castle of Front-de-Boeuf, to do what yet may be done fori 
the succor of our friends.” 

Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt j 
10 child, who has undergone what it conceives to be an in- , 
suit. 

“ By the face of God!” he said, “ Waldemar Fitzurse, 
much hast thou taken upon thee ! and over malapert thou i 
wert to cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be raised, ini 
15 a town where ourselves were in presence, without our ex-] 
press command.” 

“ I crave your Grace’s pardon,” said Fitzurse, internally F 
cursing the idle vanity of his patron ; “ but when time ] 
pressed, and even the loss of minutes might be fatal, I 
20 judged it best to take this much burden upon me, in a 
matter of such importance to your Grace’s interest.” 

“Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,” said the Prince,! 
gravely'; “ thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rash- j 
ness. But whom have we here? De Bracy himself, by! 
25 the rood ! and in strange guise doth he come before us.”l i 

It was indeed De Bracy, “ bloody with spurring, fiery ‘ 
red with speed.” His armor bore all the marks of the 
late obstinate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained [ 
with blood in many places, and covered with clay and I 
30 dust from the crest to the spur. Undoing his helmet, he | 
placed it on the table, and stood a moment as if to collect* 
himself before he told his news. 

“ De Bracy,” said Prince John, “what means this? 
Speak, I charge thee ! Are the Saxons in rebellion ? ” 

35 “ Speak, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, almost in the same 

moment with his master, “ thou wert wont to be a man. 
Where is the Templar? where Front-de-Bceuf ? ” 

“The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy; “Front-de- 
Boeuf you will never see more. He has found a red grave 


Ivanhoe 


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| among the blazing rafters of his own castle, and I alone 
I am escaped to tell you.” 

“ Cold news,” said Waldemar, “ to us, though you speak 
of fire and conflagration.” 

“The worst news is not yet said,” answered De Bracy; 
and, coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and 
emphatic tone — “ Richard is in England ; I have seen and 
spoken with him.” 

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the 
| back of an oaken bench to support himself, much like to 
a man who receives an arrow in his bosom. 

“ Thou ravest, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, “ it cannot 
be.” 

“ It is as true' as truth itself,” said De Bracy ; “ I was 
his prisoner, and spoke with him.” 

“With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?” continued 
| Fitzurse. 

“With Richard Plantagenet,’ replied De Bracy — 
“ with Richard Coeur-de-Lion — with Richard of Eng- 
land.” 

“And thou wert his prisoner?” said Waldemar; “he is 
then at the head of a power ? ” 

“ No ; only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, 
! and to these his person is unknown. I heard him say he 
I was about to depart from them. He joined them only to 
assist at the storming of Torquilstone.” 

“ Aye,” said Fitzurse, “ such is indeed the fashion of 
i Richard — a true knight-errant he, and will wander in 
I wild adventure, trusting the prowess of his single arm, 
like any Sir Guy or Sir Bevis, while the weighty affairs 
of his kingdom slumber, and his own safety is endangered. 
What dost thou propose to do, De Bracy ? ” 

“I? I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, 
and he refused them. I will lead them to Hull, seize on 
shipping, and embark for Flanders; thanks to the bustling 
times, a man of action will always find employment. 
And thou, Waldemar, wilt thou take lance and shield, 
and lay down thy policies, and wend along with me, and 
share the fate which God sends us ? ” 


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“ I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,” an- 
swered Waldemar. 

“ Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as 
fits her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,” said De 
5 Bracy. 

“ Not so,” answered Fitzurse ; “ I will take sanctuary 
in this church of St. Peter; the Archbishop is my sworn 
brother.” 

During this discourse, Prince John had gradually 
10 awakened from the stupor into which he had been thrown 
by the unexpected intelligence, and had been attentive to 
the conversation which passed betwixt his followers. 
“ They fall off from me,” he said to himself : “ they hold 
no more by me than a withered leaf by the bough when 
15 a breeze blows on it ! Hell and fiends ! can I shape no 
means for myself when I am deserted by these cravens ? ” 
He paused, and there was an expression of diabolical pas- 
sion in the constrained laugh with which he at length 
broke in on their conversation. 

20 “Ha, ha, ha ! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady’s 
brow, I held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted men, 
loving things which are costly to come by; yet ye throw 
down wealth, honor, pleasure, all that our noble game 
promised you, at the moment it might be won by one bold 
25 cast ! ” 

“ I understand you not,” said De Bracy. “ As soon as 
Richard’s return is blown abroad, he will be at the head 
of an army, and all is then over with us. I would counsel 
you, my lord, either to fly to France or take the protection 
30 of the Queen Mother.” 

“ I seek no safety for myself,” said Prince John, haught- 
ily ; “ that I could secure by a word spoken to my brother. 
But although you, De Bracy, and you, Waldemar Fitz- 
urse, are so ready to abandon me, I should not greatly 
35 delight to see your heads blackening on Clifford’s gate 
yonder. Thinkest thou, Waldemar, that the wily Arch- 
bishop will not suffer thee to be taken from the very 
horns of the altar, would it make his peace with King 
Richard? And forgettest thou, De Bracy, that Robert 


Ivanhoe 


395 

;i Estoteville lies betwixt thee and Hull with all his forces, 
j and that the Earl of Essex is gathering his followers? 

If we had reason to fear these levies even before Rich- 
)' ard’s return, trowest thou there is any doubt now which 
party their leaders will take? Trust me, Estoteville alone 
| has strength enough to drive all thy Free Lances into 
1! the Humber.” Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked 
| in each other’s faces with blank dismay. “ There is but 
j one road to safety,” continued the Prince, and his brow 
i grew black as midnight: “this object of our terror jour- 
neys alone ; he must be met withal.” 

“ Not by me,” said De Bracy, hastily ; “ I was his pris- 
oner, and he took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather 
I in his crest.” 

“Who spoke of harming him?” said Prince John, with 
a hardened laugh ; “ the knave will say next that I meant 
he should slay him ! No — a prison was better ; and 
whether in Britain or Austria, what matters it? Things 
will be but as they were when we commenced our enter- 
prise. It was founded on the hope that Richard would 
remain a captive in Germany. Our uncle [relative] Rob- 
ert lived and died in the castle of Cardiff.” 

“Aye, but,” said Waldemar, “your sire [ancestor] 

! Henry sate more firm in his seat than your Grace can. 
I say the best prison is that which is made by the sexton : 
no dungeon like a church-vault ! I have said my say.” 

“ Prison or tomb,” said De Bracy, “ I wash my hands of 
the whole matter.” 

“ Villain ! ” said Prince John, “ thou wouldst not bewray 
our counsel ? ” 

“ Counsel was never bewrayed by me,” said De Bracy i 
! haughtily, “ nor must the name of villain be coupled with 
I mine ! ” 

“Peace, Sir Knight! ” said Waldemar; “and you, good 
my lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy; I trust 
I shall soon remove them.” 

“ That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,” replied the 
knight. 

“Why, good Sir Maurice,” rejoined the wily politician, 


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“ start not aside like a scared steed, without, at least, con- 
sidering the object of your terror. This Richard — but 
a day since, and it would have been thy dearest wish to 
have met him hand to hand in the ranks of battle; a hun- 
dred times I have heard thee wish it.” 

“ Aye,” said De Bracy, “ but that was, as thou sayest, 
hand to hand, and in the ranks of battle ! Thou never 
heardest me breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, 
and in a forest.” 

“ Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it,” 
said Waldemar. “ Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac 
and Sir Tristram won renown? or was it not by encoun- 
tering gigantic knights under the shade of deep and un- 
known forests ? ” 

“ Aye, but I promise you,” said De Bracy, “ that neither 
Tristram nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to 
hand, for Richard Plantagenet, and I think it was not 
their wont to take odds against a single man.” 

“ Thou art mad, De Bracy : what is it we propose to 
20 thee, a hired and retained captain of Free Companions, 
whose swords are purchased for Prince John’s service? 
Thou art apprised of our enemy, and then thou scruplest 
though thy patron’s fortunes, those of thy comrades, thine 
own, and the life and honor of every one amongst us, be 
25 at stake ! ” 

“ I tell you,” said De Bracy, sullenly, “ that he gave me 
my life. True, he sent me from his presence, and refused 
my homage, so far I owe him neither favor nor allegiance ; 
but I will not lift hand against him.” 

“ It needs not ; send Louis Winkelbrand and a score of 
thy lances.” 

“ Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,” said De ' 
Bracy; “ not one of mine shall budge on such an errand.” I 
“Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?” said Prince John; 

“ and wilt thou forsake me, after so many protestations : 
of zeal for my service?” 

“ I mean it not,” said De Bracy ; “ I will abide by you 


30 


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in aught that becomes a knight, whether in the lists 




or in 


Ivanhoe 


397 

the camp; but this highway practice comes not with my 
vow.” 

“ Come hither, Waldemar,” said Prince John. “ An 
unhappy prince am I. My father, King Henry, had faith- 
ful servants. He had but to say that he was plagued 
with a facetious priest, and the blood of Thomas-a-Becket, 
saint though he was, stained the steps of his own altar. 
Tracy, Morville, Brito, loyal and daring subjects, your 
names, your spirit, are extinct ! and although Reginald 
Fitzurse hath left a son, he hath fallen off from his 
father’s fidelity and courage.” 

“ He has fallen off from neither,” said Waldemar Fitz- 
urse ; “ and since it may not better be, I will take on me 
the conduct of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, how- 
ever, did my father purchase the praise of a zealous 
friend; and yet did his proof of loyalty to Henry fall 
far short of what I am about to afford; for rather would 
I assail a whole calendar of saints than put spear in rest 
against Coeur-de-Lion. De Bracy, to thee I must trust 
to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and to guard Prince 
John’s person. If you receive such news as I trust to 
send you, our enterprise will no longer wear a doubtful 
aspect. Page,” he said, “ hie to my lodgings, and tell my 
armorer to be there in readiness ; and bid Stephen 
Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, and the Three Spears of Spy- 
inghow come to me instantly; and let the scout-master, 
Hugh Bardon, attend me also. Adieu, my Prince, till 
better times.” Thus speaking, he left the apartment. 

“ He goes to make my brother prisoner,” said Prince 
John to De Bracy, “ with as little touch of compunction 
as if it but concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I 
trust he will observe our orders, and use our dear Rich- 
ard’s person with all due respect.” 

De Bracy only answered by a smile. 

“ By the light of Our Lady’s brow,” said Prince John, 
“our orders to him were most precise, though it may be 
you heard them not, as we stood together in the oriel win- 
dow. Most clear and positive was our charge that Rich- 


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Ivanhoe 


398 

ard’s safety should be cared for, and woe to Waldemar’s 
head if he transgress it ! ” 

“ I had better pass to his lodgings/’ said De Bracy, 
“ and make him fully aware of your Grace’s pleasure ; 
5 for, as it quite escaped my ear, it may not perchance have 
reached that of Waldemar.” 

“ Nay, nay,” said Prince John, impatiently, “ I promise 
thee he heard me; and, besides, I have farther occupa- 
tion for thee. Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy 
10 shoulder.” 

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar 
posture, and Prince John, with an air of the most confi- 
dential intimacy, proceeded to say, “ What thinkest thou 
of this Waldemar Fitzurse, my De Bracy? He trusts to 
15 be our Chancellor. Surely we will pause ere we give an 
office so high to one who shows evidently how little he 
reverences our blood, by his so readily undertaking this 
enterprise against Richard. Thou dost think, I warrant, 
that thou hast lost somewhat of our regard by thy boldly 
20 declining this unpleasing task. But no, Maurice ! I rather 
honor thee for thy virtuous constancy. There are things 
most necessary to be done, the perpetrator of which we 
neither love nor honor ; and there may be refusals to serve 
us which shall rather exalt in our estimation those who 
25 deny our request. The arrest of my unfortunate brother 
forms no such good title to the high office of Chancellor 
as thy chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in 
thee to the truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, 
De Bracy, and begone to thy charge.” 

30 “ Fickle tyrant ! ” muttered De Bracy, as he left the 

presence of the Prince ; “ evil luck have they who trust 
thee. Thy Chancellor, indeed ! He who hath the keep- 
ing of thy conscience shall have an easy charge, I trow. 
But High Marshal of England ! that,” he said, extending 
35 his arm, as if to grasp the baton of office, and assuming 
a loftier stride along the ante-chamber — •“ that is indeed 
a prize worth playing for ! ” 

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince 
John summoned an attendant. 


Ivanhoe 


399 

“ Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, as 
soon as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.” 

The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during 
which John traversed the apartment with unequal and 
disordered steps. 

“ Bardon,” said he, “ what did Waldemar desire of 
thee?” 

“ Two resolute men, well acquainted with these north- 
ern wilds, and skillful in tracking the tread of man and 
horse.” 

“ And thou hast fitted him ? ” 

“ Let your Grace never trust me else,” answered the 
master of the spies. “ One is from Hexhamshire ; he is 
wont to trace the Tynedale and Teviotdale thieves, as a 
bloodhound follows the slot of a hurt deer. The other is 
Yorkshire bred, and has twanged his bowstring right oft in 
merry Sherwood; he knows each glade and dingle, copse 
and high-wood, betwixt this and Richmond.” 

“’Tis well,” said the Prince. “Goes Waldemar forth 
with them ? ” 

“ Instantly,” said Bardon. 

“With what attendance?” asked John, carelessly. 

“ Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom 
they call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steel-Heart; and three 
northern men-at-arms that belonged to Ralph Middle- 
ton’s gang; they are called the Spears of Spyinghow.” 

“ ’Tis well,” said Prince John; then added, after a mo- 
ment’s pause, “ Bardon, it imports our service that thou 
keep a strict watch on Maurice de Bracy, so that he shall 
not observe it, however. And let us know of his mo- 
tions from time to time, with whom he converses, what 
he -proposeth. Fail not in this, as thou wilt be answera- 
ble.” 

Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired. 

“If Maurice betrays me,” said Prince John — “if he 
betrays me, as his bearing leads me to fear, I will have 
his head, were Richard thundering at the gates of York. 


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CHAPTER XXXV 


Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 

Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey; 

Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild fanaticism. 

Anonymous. 

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York. Mounted upon 
a mule, the gift of the outlaw, with two tall yeomen to j 
act as his guard and guides, the Jew had set out for the i| 
preceptory of Templestowe, for the purpose of negotiating 
5 his daughter’s redemption. The preceptory was but a 
day’s journey from the demolished castle of Torquilstone, 
and the Jew had hoped to reach it before nightfall; ac- ■ 
cordingly, having dismissed his guides at the verge of 
the forest, and rewarded them with a piece of silver, he 
10 began to press on with such speed as his weariness per- 
mitted him to exert. But his strength failed him totally 
ere he had reached within four miles of the Temple 
court; racking pains shot along his back and through his 
limbs; and the excessive anguish which he felt at heart 
15 being now augmented by bodily suffering, he was ren- i 
dered altogether incapable of proceeding farther than , 
a small market-town, where dwelt a Jewish rabbi of his 
tribe, eminent in the medical profession, and to whom [ 
Isaac was well known. Nathan ben Israel received his 
20 suffering countryman with that kindness which the law 
prescribed, and which the Jews practiced to each other. ! 
He insisted on his betaking himself to repose, and used 
such remedies as were then in most repute to check the 
progress of the fever which terror, fatigue, ill-usage, and j 
25 sorrow had brought upon the poor old Jew. 

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and pur- 
400 


Ivanhoe 401 

: sue his journey, Nathan remonstrated against his purpose, 
I both as his host and his physician. “ It might cost him,” 
he said, “ his life.” But Isaac replied, “ That more than 
l.| life and death depended upon his going that morning to 
I Templestowe.” 

“To Templestowe! ” said his host with surprise; again 
| felt his pulse, and then muttered to himself, “ His fever 
is abated, yet seems his mind somewhat alienated and dis- 
!j turbed.” 

“And why not to Templestowe?” answered his patient. 
I; “ I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of those to 
I whom the despised Children of the Promise are a stum- 
I bling-block and an abomination; yet thou knowest that 
pressing affairs of traffic sometimes carry us among these 
i ’bloodthirsty Nazarene soldiers, and that we visit the pre- 
1 ceptories of the Templars, as well *as the commanderies 
of the Knights Hospitalers, as they are called.” 

“I know it well,” said Nathan; “but wottest thou 
sj that Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of their order, and 
I whom they term Grand Master, is now himself at Tem- 
1 plestowe ? ” 

“ I know it not,” said Isaac ; “ our last letters from our 
| brethren at Paris avised us that he was at that city, be- 
ll seeching Philip for aid against the Sultan Saladine.” 

“ He hath since come to England, unexpected by his 
brethren,” said Ben Israel ; “ and he cometh among them 
I with a strong and outstretched arm to correct and to 

! punish. His countenance is kindled in anger against those 
who have departed from the vow which they have made, 
■ and great is the fear of those sons of Belial. Thou must 
have heard of his name?” 

“ It is well known unto me,” said Isaac : “ the Gentiles 
deliver this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slay- 
ing for every point of the Nazarene law; and our brethren 
have termed him a fierce destroyer of the Saracens, and 
a cruel tyrant to the Children of the Promise.” 

“ And truly have they termed him,” said Nathan the 
physician. “ Other Templars may be moved from the 
purpose of their heart by pleasure, or bribed by promise 


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Ivanhoe 


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of gold and silver; but Beaumanoir is of a different t 
stamp — hating sensuality, despising treasure, and press- 9 
ing forward to that which they call the crown of martyr- 
dom — the God of Jacob speedily send it unto him, and 
5 unto them all ! Specially hath this proud man extended 
his glove over the children of Judah, as holy David over 
Edom, holding the murder of a Jew to be an offering of 
as sweet savor as the death of a Saracen. Impious and 
false things has he said even of the virtues of our medi- 1 
10 cines, as if they were the devices of Satan — the Lord re- ■ 
buke him ! ” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Isaac, “ I must present myself at 
Templestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a 
fiery furnace seven times heated.” 

15 He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his 
journey. The Rabbi listened with interest, and testified 
his sympathy after the fashion of his people, rending 
his clothes, and saying, “ Ah, my daughter ! — ah, my j 
daughter ! Alas ! for the beauty of Zion ! Alas ! for the j 
20 captivity of Israel ! ” 

“Thou seest,” said Isaac, “how it stands with me, and | 
that I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of j 
this Lucas Beaumanoir, being the chief man over them, j 
may turn Brian de Bois-Guilbert from the ill which he | 
25 doth meditate, and that he may deliver to me my beloved ( 
daughter Rebecca.” 

“ Go thou,” said Nathan ben Israel, “ and be wise, for 
wisdom availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he j 
was cast; and may it go well with thee, even as thine 
30 heart wisheth. Yet, if thou canst, keep thee from the I 
presence of the Grand Master, for to do foul scorn to our j 
people is his morning and evening delight. It may be, 
if thou couldst speak with Bois-Guilbert in private, thou [ 
shalt the better prevail with him; for men say that these 
35 accursed Nazarenes are not of one mind in the pre- 
ceptory — may their counsels be confounded and brought j 
to shame ! But do thou, brother, return to me as if it j 
were to the house of thy father, and bring me word how 


Ivanhoe 


403 

it has sped with thee; and well do I hope thou wilt bring 
with thee Rebecca, even the scholar of the wise Miriam, 
whose cures the Gentiles slandered as if they had been 
i wrought by necromancy.” 

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about 
an hour’s riding brought him before the preceptory of 
I Templestowe. 

This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst 
| fair meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the 
^ former preceptor had bestowed upon their order. It was 
j strong and well fortified, a point never neglected by these 
knights, and which the disordered state of England ren- 
| dered peculiarly necessary. Two halberdiers, clad in 
black, guarded the drawbridge, and others, in the same 
sad livery, glided to and fro upon the walls with a funereal 
pace, resembling specters more than soldiers. The in- 
ferior officers of the order were thus dressed, ever since 
| their use of white garments, similar to those of the knights 
i and esquires, had given rise to a combination of certain 
\ false brethren in the mountains of Palestine, terming 
i themselves Templars, and bringing great dishonor on the 
! order. A knight was now and then seen to cross the 
j court in his long white^cloak, his head depressed on his 
breast, and his arms folded. They passed each other, if 
they chanced to meet, with a slow, solemn, and mute 
greeting; for such was the rule of their order, quoting 
thereupon the holy texts, “ In many words thou shalt not 
avoid sin,” and “ Life and death are in the power of the 
) tongue.” In a word, the stern, ascetic rigor of the Temple 
discipline, which had been so long Exchanged for prodigal 
and licentious indulgence, seemed at once to have revived 
at Templestowe under the severe eye of Lucas Beau- 
manoir. 

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek 
entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak favor; for 
he was well aware that to his unhappy race the reviving 
fanaticism of the order was not less dangerous than their 
unprincipled licentiousness ; and that his religion would be 


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Ivanhoe 


4°4 

the object of hate and persecution in the one case, as his 
wealth would have exposed him in the other to the extor- 
tions of unrelenting oppression. 

5 Meantime, Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small gar- 
den belonging to the preceptory, included within the pre- 
cincts of its exterior fortification, and held sad and confi- 
dential communication with a brother of his order, who 
had come in his company from Palestine. 

10 The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was 
testified by his long gray beard, and the shaggy gray eye- 
brows, overhanging eyes of which, however, years had 
been unable to quench the fire. A formidable warrior, his 
thin and severe features retained the soldier’s fierceness 
15 of expression; an ascetic bigot, they were no less marked 
by the emaciation of abstinence, and the spiritual pride of 
the self-satisfied devotee. Yet with these severer traits 
of physiognomy, there was mixed somewhat striking and 
noble, arising, doubtless, from the great part which his 
20 high office called upon him to act among monarchs and 
princes, and from the habitual exercise of supreme author- 
ity over the valiant and high-born knights who were 
united by the rules of the order. His stature was tall, 
and his gait, undepressed by age and toil, was erect and 
25 stately. His white mantle was shaped with severe reg- 
ularity, according to the rule of St. Bernard himself, be- 
ing composed of what was then called burrel cloth, ex- 
actly fitted to the size of the wearer, and bearing on the 
left shoulder the octangular cross peculiar to the order, 
30 formed of red cloth. No vair or ermine decked this gar- 
ment; but in respect of his age, the Grand Master, as per- 
mitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined and trimmed 
with the softest lambskin, dressed with the wool outwards, 
which was the nearest approach he could regularly make 
35 to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury of dress. In his 
hand he bore that singular abacus, or staff of office, with 
which Templars are usually represented, having at the 
upper end a round plate, on which was engraved the cross 
of the order, inscribed within a circle or orle, as heralds 


Ivanhoe 


405 

term it. His companion, who attended on this great per- 
sonage, had nearly the same dress in all respects, but his 
extreme deference towards his superior showed that no 
other equality subsisted between them. The preceptor, 
for such he was in rank, walked not in a line with the 
Grand Master, but just so far behind that Beaumanoir 
could speak to him without turning round his head. 

“ Conrade,” said the Grand Master, “ dear companion 
of my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone I 
can confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, 
since I came to this kingdom, I have desired to be dis- 
solved and to be with the just. Not one object in Eng- 
land hath met mine eye which it could rest upon with 
pleasure, save the tombs of our brethren, beneath the 
massive roof of our Temple Church in yonder proud cap- 
ital. ‘ O, valiant Robert de Ros ! ’ did I exclaim internally, 
as I gazed upon these good soldiers of the cross, where 
they lie sculptured on their sepulchers — ‘O, worthy Wil- 
liam de Mareschal ! open your marble cells, and take to 
your repose a weary brother, who would rather strive with 
a hundred thousand pagans than witness the decay of our 
holy order ! ’ ” 

“ It is but true,” answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet — " it 
it but too true; and the irregularities of our brethren in 
England are even more gross than those in France.” 

“ Because they are more wealthy,” answered the Grand 
Master. “ Bear with me, brother, although I should some- 
thing vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, 
keeping each point of my order, striving with devils em- 
bodied and disembodied, striking down the roaring lion, 
who goeth about seeking whom he may devour, like a good 
knight and devout priest, wheresoever I met witli him, 
even as blessed St. Bernard hath prescribed to us in the 
forty-fifth capital of our rule, Ut leo semper feriatur . 
But, by the Holy Temple! the zeal which hath devoured 
my substance and my life, yea, the very nerves and marrow 
of my bones — by that very Holy Temple I swear to thee, 
that save thyself and some few that still retain the ancient 
severity of our order, I look upon no brethren whom I can 


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bring my soul to embrace under that holy name. What 
say our statutes, and how do our brethren observe them? 
They should wear no vain or worldly ornament, no crest 
upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or bridle-bit; yet 
5 who now go pranked out so proudly and so gayly as .the 
poor soldiers of the Temple? They are forbidden by our 
statutes to take one bird by means of another, to shoot 
beasts with bow or arblast, to halloo to a hunting-horn, or 
to spur the horse after game; but now, at hunting and 
10 hawking, and each idle sport of wood and river, who so 
prompt as the Templars in all these fond vanities? They 
are forbidden to read, save what their superior permitted, 
or listen to what is read, save such holy things as may be 
recited aloud during the hours of refection ; but lo ! their 
15 ears are at the command of idle minstrels, and their eyes 
study empty romaunts. They were commanded to extir- 
pate magic and heresy ; lo ! they are charged with study- 
ing the accursed cabalistical secrets of the Jews, and the 
magic of the paynim Saracens. Simpleness of diet was 
20 prescribed to them — roots, pottage, gruels, eating flesh 
but thrice a-week, because the accustomed feeding on 
flesh is a dishonorable corruption of the body; and behold, 
their tables groan under delicate fare. Their drink was 
to be water; and now, to drink like a Templar is the boast 
25 of each jolly boon companion. This very garden, filled as 
it is with curious herbs and trees sent from the Eastern 
climes, better becomes the harem of an unbelieving emir 
than the plot which Christian monks should devote to 
raise their homely pot-herbs. And O, Conrade ! well it 
30 were that the relaxation of discipline stopped even here ! 
Well thou knowest that tve were forbidden to receive 
those devout women who at the beginning were associated 
as sisters of our order, because, saith the forty-sixth chap- 
ter, the Ancient Enemy hath, by female society, with- 
35 drawn many from the right path to paradise. Nay, in the 
last capital, being, as it were, the copestone which our 
blessed founder placed on the pure and undefiled doctrine 
which he had enjoined, we are prohibited from offering, 
even to our sisters and our mothers, the kiss of affection : 


Ivanhoe 


407 

I ut omnium mulicrum fugicmlur oscula. I shame to speak 
— I shame to think — of the corruptions which have 
rushed in upon us even like a flood. The souls of our 
pure founders, the spirits of Hugh de Payen and Godfrey 
: de St. Omer, and of the blessed seven who first joined in 
| dedicating their lives to the service of the Temple, are 
disturbed even in the enjoyment of paradise itself. I 
have seen them, Conrade, in the visions of the night: 

! their sainted eyes shed tears for the sins and follies of 
their brethren, and for the foul and shameful luxury in 
which they wallow. “ Beaumanoir,” they say, “ thou 
slumberest ; awake ! There is a stain in the fabric of the 
Temple, deep and foul as that left by the streaks of lep- 
rosy on the walls of the infected houses of old. The 
soldiers of the Cross, who should shun the glance of a 
woman as the eye of a basilisk, live in open sin, not with 
the females of their own race only, but with the daugh- 
ters of the accursed heathen, and more accursed Jew. 
Beaumanoir, thou sleepest ; up, and avenge our cause ! 
Slay the sinners, male and female! Take to thee the 
brand of Phineas ! ” The vision fled, Conrade, but as I 
awaked I could still hear the clank of their mail, and see 
the waving of their white mantles. And I will do ac- 
cording to their word: I will purify the fabric of the 
Temple; and the unclean stones in which the plague is, 
I will remove and cast out of the building.” 

“ Yet bethink thee, reverend father,” said Mont- 
• Fitchet, “ the stain hath become engrained by time and 
consuetude; let thy reformation be cautious, as it is just 
and wise.” 

“ No, Mont-Fitchet,” answered the stern old man, “ it 
must be sharp and sudden; the order is on the crisis of 
its fate. The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our 
predecessors made us powerful friends; our presumption, 
our wealth, our luxury have raised up against us mighty 
enemies. We must cast away these riches, which are a. 
temptation to princes; we must lay down that presump- 
tion, which is an offense to them; we must reform that 
license of manners, which is a scandal to the whole Chris- 


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408 Ivanhoe 

tian world ! Or — mark my words — the order of the 
Temple will be utterly demolished, and the place thereof 
shall no more be known among the nations.” 

“ Now may God avert such a calamity ! ” said the pre- 
5 ceptor. 

“ Amen,” said the Grand Master, with solemnity, “ but 
we must deserve His aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that 
neither the powers in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, 
will longer endure the wickedness of this generation. My 
10 intelligence is sure — the ground on which our fabric is 
reared is already undermined, and each addition we make 
to the structure of our greatness will only sink it the 
sooner in the abyss. We must retrace our 'steps, and 
show ourselves the faithful champions of the Cross, sac- 
15 rifking to our calling not alone our blood and our lives, 
not alone our lusts and our vices, but our ease, our com- 
forts, and our natural affections, and act as men con- 
vinced that many a pleasure which may be lawful to 
others is forbidden to the vowed soldier of the Temple.” 

20 At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vest- 
ment — for the aspirants after this holy order wore dur- 
ing their novitiate the cast-off garments of the knights — 
entered the garden, and, bowing profoundly before the 
Grand Master, stood silent, awaiting his permission ere 
25 he presumed to tell his errand. 

“ Is it not more seemly,” said the Grand Master, “ to 
see this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian hu- 
mility, thus appear with reverend silence before his su- 
perior, than but two days since, when the fond fool was 
30 decked in a painted coat, and jangling as pert and as 
proud as any popinjay? Speak, Damian, we permit thee. 
What is thine errand ? ” 

“A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend 
father,” said the squire, “ who prays to speak with brother 
35 Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“ Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,” said the 
Grand Master ; “ in our presence a preceptor is but as a 
common compeer of our order, who may not walk accord- 
ing to his own will, but to that of his Master, even ac- 


Ivanhoe 


409 

I cording to the text, ‘ In the hearing of the ear he hath 
1 obeyed me.’ It imports us especially to know of this 
1 Bois-Guilbert’s proceedings/’ said he, turning to his com- 
I panion. 

“ Report speaks him brave and valiant,” said Conrade. 

“ And truly is he so spoken of,” said the Grand Master ; 
I “ in our valor only we are not degenerated from our prede- 
I cessors, the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian came 
| into our order a moody and disappointed man, stirred, I 
I doubt me, to take our vows and to renounce the world, 
I not in sincerity of soul, but as one whom some touch of 
light discontent had driven into penitence. Since then 
|| he hath become an active and earnest agitator, a mur- 
murer, and a machinator, and a leader amongst those who 
impugn our authority; not considering that the rule is 
given to the Master even by the symbol of the staff and 
‘ the rod — the staff to support the infirmities of the weak, 
the rod to correct the faults of delinquents. Damian,” he 
continued, “ lead the Jew to our presence.” 

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in 
a few minutes returned, marshaling in Isaac of York. No 
: j naked slave, ushered into the presence of some mighty 
prince, could approach his judgment-seat with more pro- 
found reverence and terror than thkt with which the Jew 
drew near to the presence of the Grand Master. When 
he had approached within the distance of three yards, 
i Beaumanoir made a sign with his staff that he should 
| come no farther. The Jew kneeled down on the earth, 
which he kissed in token of reverence ; then rising, stood 
before the Templars, his hands folded on his bosom, his 
head bowed on his breast, in all the submission of Ori- 
ental slavery. 

“ Damian,” said the Grand Master, “ retire, and have 
a guard ready to await our sudden call ; and suffer no one 
to enter the garden until we shall leave it.” The squire 
bowed and retreated. “ Jew,” continued the haughty old 
man, “ mark me. It suits not our condition to hold with 
thee long communication, nor do we waste words or time 
upon any one. Wherefore be brief in thy answers to 


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Ivanhoe 


410 

what questions I shall ask thee, and let thy words be of 
truth; for if thy tongue doubles with me, I will have it 
torn from thy misbelieving jaws.” 

The Jew was about to reply; but the Grand Master went 
5 on — 

“ Peace, unbeliever ! not a word in our presence, save in 
answer to our questions. What is thy business with our 
brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert? ” 

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his 
10 tale might be interpreted into scandalizing the order; yet, 
unless he told it, what hope could he have of achieving 
his daughter’s deliverance? Beaumanoir saw his mortal 
apprehension, and condescended to give him some assur- 
ance. 

15 “ Fear nothing,” he said, “ for thy wretched person, 

Jew, so thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand 
again to know from thee thy business with Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert ? ” 

“ I am bearer of a letter,” stammered out the Jew, “ so 
20 please your reverend valor, to that good knight, from Prior 
Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.” 

“ Said I not these were evil times, Conrade ? ” said the 
Master. “ A Cistercian prior sends a letter to a soldier 
of the Temple, and c&n find no more fitting messenger 
25 than an unbelieving Jew. Give me the letter.” 

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his 
Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s tab- 
lets for the greater security, and was about to approach, 
with hand extended and body crouched, to place it within 
30 the reach of his grim interrogator. 

“ Back, dog ! ” said the Grand Master ; “ I touch not 
misbelievers, save with the sword. Conrade, take thou the 
letter from the Jew and give it to me.” 

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, in- 
35 spected the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo 
the packthread which secured its folds. “ Reverend 
father,” said Conrade, interposing, though with much def- 
erence, “ wilt thou break the seal ? ” 

“And will I not?” said Beaumanoir, with a frown. 


Ivanhoe 


411 

“ Is it not written in the forty-second capital, De Lectione 
Liter arum, that a Templar shall not receive a letter, no 
[. not from his father, without communicating the same to 
the Grand Master, and reading it in his presence ? ” 

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression 
; of surprise and horror; read it over again more slowly; 

then holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and slightly 
! striking it with the other, exclaimed — “ Here is goodly 
1 stuff for one Christian man to write to another, and both 
members, and no inconsiderable members, of religious pro- 
fessions ! When,” said he solemnly, and looking upward, 

1 “ wilt TKou come with Thy fanners to purge the thrash- 
ing-floor ? ” 

Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his superior, and was 
I about to peruse it. “ Read it aloud, Conrade,” said the 
1 Grand Master; “and do thou (to Isaac) attend to the 
1 purport of it, for we will question thee concerning it.” 

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words: 
r “ Aymer, by divine grace, prior of the Cistercian house of 
; St. Mary’s of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a 
ij knight of the holy order of the Temple, wisheth health, 

' .j with the bounties of King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus, 
i Touching our present condition, dear brother, we are a 
. captive in the hands of certain lawless hnd godless men, 
I who have not feared to detain our person, and put us to 
I ransom; whereby we have also learned of Front-de-Boeuf’s 
i misfortune, and that thou hast escaped with that fair 
I Jewish sorceress whose black eyes have bewitched thee. 
We are heartily rejoiced of thy safety; nevertheless, we 
pray thee to be on thy guard in the matter of this second 
Witch of Endor; for we are privately assured that your 
I Great Master, who careth not a bean for cherry cheeks 
and black eyes, comes from Normandy to diminish your 
t mirth and amend your misdoings. Wherefore we pray 
j you heartily to beware, and to be found watching, even as 
the Holy Text hath it, Invenientur vigilantes . And the 
wealthy Jew her father, Isaac of York, having prayed of 
I me letters in his behalf, I gave him these, earnestly advis- 
ing, and in a sort entreating, that you do hold the damsel 


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Ivanhoe 


412 

to ransom, seeing he will pay you from his bags as much 
as may find fifty damsels upon safer terms, whereof I trust 
to have my part when we make merry together, as true 
brothers, not forgetting the wine-cup. For what saith 
5 the text, Vinum Icetificat cor hominis; and again, Rex 
delectabitur pulchritudine tua. 

“ Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. 
Given from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins, 

“ Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis. 

10 

“ Postscriptum. — Truly your golden chain hath not long i 
abidden with me, and will now sustain, around the neck 
of an outlaw deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth j 
on his hounds.” 

15 

“ What sayest thou to this, Conrade ? ” said the Grand 
Master. “ Den of thieves ! and a fit residence is a den | 
of thieves for such a prior. No wonder that the hand of 
God is upon us, and that in the Holy Land we lose place f 
20 by place, foot by foot, before the infidels, when we have I 
such churchmen as this Aymer. And what meaneth he, . 

I trow, by ‘ this second Witch of Endor ’ ? ” said he to his 
confidant, something apart. 

Conrade was better acquainted, perhaps by practice, I 
25 with the jargon of gallantry than was his superior; and 
he expounded the passage which embarrassed the Grand 
Master to be a sort of language used by worldly men to- 
wards those whom they loved par amours ; but the ex- j 
planation did not satisfy the bigoted Beaumanoir. 

30 “ There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade ; i 

thy simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wicked- 
ness. This Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam | 
of whom thou hast heard. Thou shalt hear the Jew own 
it even now.” Then turning to Isaac, he said aloud, i 
35 “ Thy daughter, then, is prisoner with Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert? ” 

“Aye, reverend valorous sir,” stammered poor Isaac, I 
“ and whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her de- I 
liverance — ” 


Ivanhoe 


4i3 

“ Peace ! ” said the Grand Master. “ This thy daughter 
I hath practiced the art of healing, hath she not?” 

[I “ Aye, gracious sir,” answered the Jew, with more con- 
| fidence ; “ and knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may 
I bless the goodly gift which Heaven hath assigned to her. 5 
| Many a one can testify that she hath recovered them by 
I her art, when every other human aid hath proved vain; 

IS but the blessing of the God of Jacob was upon her.” 
r Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim smile. 

“ See, brother,” he said, “ the deceptions of the devouring 10 
Enemy ! Behold the baits with which he fishes for souls, 
j giving a poor space of earthly life in exchange for eternal 
1 happiness hereafter. Well said our blessed rule, Semper 
I percutiatur leo vorans. Upon the lion ! Down with the de- 
ll stroyer ! ” said he, shaking aloft his mystic abacus, as if 15 
[} in defiance of the powers of darkness. “ Thy daughter 
I worketh the cures, I doubt not,” thus he went on to ad- 
dress the Jew, “ by words and sigils, and periapts, and 
f other cabalistical mysteries.” 

“ Nay, reverend and brave knight,” answered Isaac, 20 
“ but in chief measure by a balsam of marvelous virtue.” 

“Where had she that secret?” said Beaumanoir. 

“ It was delivered to her,” answered Isaac, reluctantly, 

“ by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.” 

“Ah, false Jew! ” said the Grand Master; “was it not 25 
from that same witch Miriam, the abomination of whose 
enchantments have been heard of throughout every Chris- 
tian land ? ” exclaimed the Grand Master, crossing him- 
self. “ Her body was burnt at a stake, and her ashes 
were scattered to the four winds ; and so be it with me and 30 
mine order, if I do not as much to her pupil, and more 
also ! I will teach her to throw spell and incantation over 
the soldiers of the blessed Temple ! There, Damian, spurn 
this Jew from the gate; shoot him dead if he oppose or 
turn again. With his daughter we will deal as the Chris- 35 
tian law and our own high office warrant” 

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled 
from the pr£ceptory, all his entreaties, and even his offers, 
unheard and disregarded. He could do no better than 


414 


Ivanhoe 


return to the house of the Rabbi, and endeavor, through 
his means, to learn how his daughter was to be disposed 
of. He had hitherto feared for her honor; he was now 
to tremble for her life. Meanwhile, the Grand Master 
5 ordered to his presence the preceptor of Templestowe. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


Say not my art is fraud : all live by seeming. 

The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming; 

The clergy scorn it not; and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. All admit it, 

All practise it; and he who is content 
With showing what he is shall have small credit 
In church, or camp, or state. So wags the world. 

Old Play. 

Albert Malvoisin, president, or, in the language of the 
order, preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, was 
brother to that Philip Malvoisin who has been already oc- 
casionally mentioned in this history, and was, like that 
baron, in close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the 
Temple order included but too many, Albert of Temple- 
stowe might be distinguished; but with this difference 
from the audacious Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to 
throw over his vices and his ambition the veil of hy- 
pocrisy, and to assume in his exterior the fanaticism which 
he internally despised. Had not the arrival of the Grand 
Master been so unexpectedly sudden, he would have seen 
nothing at Templestowe which might have appeared to 
argue any relaxation of discipline. And, even although 
surprised, and to a certain extent detected, Albert Mal- 
voisin listened with such respect and apparent contrition 
to the rebuke of his superior, and made such haste to re- 
form the particulars he censured — succeeded, in fine, so 
well in giving an air of ascetic devotion to a family which 
had been lately devoted to license and pleasure, that Lucas 
Beaumanoir began to entertain a higher opinion of the 
preceptor’s morals than the first appearance of the estab- 
lishment had inclined him to adopt. 

4i5 


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41 6 Ivanhoe 

But these favorable sentiments on the part of the Grand 
Master were greatly shaken by the intelligence that Albert 
had received within a house of religion the Jewish cap- 
tive, and, as was to be feared, the paramour of a brother 
5 of the order; and when Albert appeared before him he 
was regarded with unwonted sternness. 

“ There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes 
of the holy order of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, 
in a severe tone, “ a Jewish woman, brought hither by a 
10 brother of religion, by your connivance. Sir Preceptor.” 

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion; for 
the unfortunate Rebecca had been confined in a remote 
and secret part of the building, and every precaution used 
to prevent her residence there from being known. He 
15 read in the looks of Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and 
to himself, unless he should be able to avert the impend- 
ing storm. 

“ Why are you mute ? ” continued the Grand Master. 

“ Is it permitted to me to reply?” answered the pre- 
20 ceptor, in a tone of the deepest humility, although by the 
question he only meant to gain an instant’s space for ar- 
ranging his ideas. 

“ Speak, you are permitted,” said the Grand Master — 
“ speak, and say, knowest thou the capital of our holy rule 
25 — De commilitonibus Templi in sancta civitate, qui cum 
miserrimis mulieribus versantur, propter oblectationem 
carnisf ” 

“ Surely, most reverend father,” answered the precep- 
tor, “ I have not risen to this office in the order, being ig- 
30 norant of one of its most important prohibitions.” 

“ How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that 
thou hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that 
paramour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the 
stain and pollution thereof ? ” 

35 “ A Jewish sorceress ! ” echoed Albert Malvoisin, “ good 

angels guard us ! ” 

“ Aye, brother, a Jewish sorceress,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter, sternly. “ I have said it. Darest thou deny that this 


Ivanhoe 


417 

Rebecca, the daughter of that wretched usurer Isaac of 
York, and the pupil of the foul witch Miriam, is now — 
shame to be thought or spoken ! — lodged within this thy 
preceptory ? ” 

“ Your wisdom, reverend father,” answered the precep- 5 
tor, “ hath rolled away the darkness from my understand- 
ing. Much did I wonder that so good a knight as Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on the charms 
of this female, whom I received into this house merely to 
place a bar betwixt their growing intimacy, which else 10 
might have been cemented at the expense of the fall of 
our valiant and religious brother.” 

“ Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in 
breach of his vow ? ” demanded the Grand Master. 

“ What ! under this roof ? ” said the preceptor, crossing 15 
himself; “St. Magdalene and the ten thousand virgins 
forbid ! No ! if I have sinned in receiving her here, it 
was in the erring thought that I might thus break off our 
brother’s besotted devotion to this Jewess, which seemed 
to me so wild and unnatural, that I could not but ascribe 20 
it to some touch of insanity, more to be cured by pity than 
reproof. But, since your reverend wisdom hath discov- 
ered this Jewish quean to be a sorceress, perchance it may 
account fully for his enamored folly.” 

“ It doth ! — it doth ! ” said Beaumanoir. “ See, brother 25 
Conrade, the peril of yielding to the first devices and 
blandishments of Satan ! We look upon woman only to 
gratify the lust of the eye, and to take pleasure in what 
men call her beauty; and the Ancient Enemy, the devour- 
ing lion, obtains power over us, to complete, by talisman 30 
and spell, a work which was begun by idleness and folly. 

It may be that our brother Bois-Guilbert does in this mat- 
ter deserve rather pity than severe chastisement, rather 
the support of the staff than the strokes of the rod ; and 
that our admonitions and prayers may turn him from his 35 
folly, and restore him to his brethren.” 

“ It were deep pity,” said Conrade Mont-Fitchet, “ to 
lose to the order one of its best lances, when the holy 


Ivanhoe 


418 

community most requires the aid of its sons. Three hun- 
dred Saracens hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with 
his own hand.” 

“ The blood of these accursed dogs,” said the Grand 
5 Master, “ shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to the 
saints and angels whom they despise and blaspheme; and 
with their aid will we counteract the spells and charms 
with which our brother is entwined as in a net. He shall 
burst the bands of this Dalilah as Sampson burst the two 
10 new cords with which the Philistines^ had bound him, and 
shall slaughter the infidels, even heaps upon heaps. But 
concerning this foul witch, who hath flung her enchant- 
ments over a brother of the Holy Temple, assuredly she 
shall die the death.” 

15 “ But the laws of England — ” said the preceptor, who, 

though delighted that the Grand Master’s resentment, thus 
fortunately averted from himself and Bois-Guilbert, had 
taken another direction, began now to fear he was carry- 
ing it too far. 

20 “ The laws of England,” interrupted Beaumanoir, “ per- 

mit and enjoin each judge to execute justice within his 
own jurisdiction. The most petty baron may arrest, try, 
and condemn a witch found within his own domain. And 
shall that power be denied to the Grand Master of the 
25 Temple within a preceptory of his order? No! we will 
judge and condemn. The witch shall be taken out of the 
land, and the wickedness thereof shall be forgiven. Pre- 
pare the castle hall for the trial of the sorceress.” 

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, not to give direc- 
30 tions for preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, and communicate to him how matters were likely 
to terminate. It was not long ere he found him, foaming 
with indignation at a repulse he had anew sustained from 
the fair Jewess. “The unthinking,” he said — “the un- 
35 grateful, to scorn him who, amidst blood and flames, would 
have saved her life at the risk of his own ! By Heaven, 
Malvoisin ! I abode until roof and rafters crackled and 
crashed around me. I was the butt of a hundred arrows ; 
they rattled on mine armor like hailstones against a lat- 


Ivanhoe 


419 

ticed casement, and the only use I made of my shield was 
for her protection. This did I endure for her; and now 
the self-willed girl upbraids me that I did not leave her 
to perish, and refuses me not only the slightest proof of 
gratitude, but even the most distant hope that ever she will 
be brought to grant any. The devil, that possessed her 
race with obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in her 
single person ! ” 

“ The devil,” said the preceptor, “ I think, possessed 
you both. How oft have I preached to you caution, if not 
continence ? Did I not tell you that there were enough 
willing Christian damsels to be met with, who would think 
it sin to refuse so brave a knight le don d’ amoureux 
merci, and you must needs anchor your affection on a 
willful, obstinate Jewess ! By the mass, I think old Lucas 
Beaumanoir guesses right, when he maintains she hath 
cast a spell over you.” 

“ Lucas Beaumanoir ! ” said Bois-Guilbert, reproach- 
fully. “ Are these your precautions, Malvoisin ? Hast 
thou suffered the dotard to learn that Rebecca is in the 
preceptory ? ” 

“How could I help it?” said the preceptor. “I neg- 
lected nothing that could keep secret your mystery; but it 
is betrayed, and whether by the devil or no, the devil only 
can tell. But I have turned the matter as I could; you 
are safe if you renounce Rebecca. You are pitied — the 
victim of magical delusion. She is a sorceress, and must 
suffer as such.” 

“ She shall not, by Heaven ! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ By Heaven, she must and will ! ” said Malvoisin. 
“ Neither you nor any one else can save her. Lucas Beau- 
manoir hath settled that the death of a Jewess will be 
a sin-offering sufficient to atone for all the amorous in- 
dulgences of the Knights Templars; and thou knowest he 
hath both the power and will to execute so reasonable and 
pious a purpose.” 

“ Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever 
existed ! ” said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the 
apartment. 


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Ivanhoe 


420 

“ What they may believe, I know not/’ said Malvoisin, 1 
calmly ; “ but I know well, that in this our day clergy and j 
laymen, take ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry ‘ Amen ’ I'j 
to the Grand Master’s sentence.” 

5 “I have it,” said Bois-Guilbert. “ Albert, thou art my j ] 
friend. Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and « j 
I will transport her to some place of greater security and : j 
secrecy.” 

“ I cannot, if I would,” replied the preceptor: “ the man-jj 
10 sion is filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, and! I 
others who are devoted to him. And, to be frank with! H 
you, brother, I would not embark with you in this matter, jj 
even if I could hope to bring my bark to haven. I have | 
risked enough already for your sake. I have no mind to :> 
15 encounter a sentence of degradation, or even to lose my J 
preceptory, for the sake of a painted piece of Jewish flesh f 
and blood. And you, if you will be guided by my counsel, i 
will give up this wild-goose chase, and fly your hawk at 
some other game. Think, Bois-Guilbert ; thy present rank, ,j 
20 thy future honors, all depend on thy place in the order. 
Shouldst thou adhere perversely to thy passion for this 
Rebecca, thou wilt give Beaumanoir the power of expelling 
thee, and he will not neglect it. He is jealous of the 
truncheon which he holds in his trembling gripe, and he 
25 knows thou stretchest thy bold hand towards it. Doubt | 
not he will ruin thee, if thou affordest him a pretext so 
fair as thy protection of a Jewish sorceress. Give him 
his scope in this matter, for thou canst not control him. 
When the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou mayest 
30 caress the daughters of Judah, or burn them, as may best i 
suit thine own humor.” 

“ Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ thou art a cold- I: , 
blooded — ” 

“Friend,” said the preceptor, hastening to fill up the; 
35 blank, in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed 
a worse word — “ a cold-blooded friend I am, and there- . 
fore more fit to give thee advice. I tell thee once more, 
that thou canst not save Rebecca. I tell thee once 


Ivanhoe 


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more, thou canst but perish with her. Go hie thee to 
the Grand Master; throw thyself at his feet and tell 
him — ” 

“ Not at his feet, by Heaven ! but to the dotard’s very 
beard will I say — ” 

“ Say to him, then, to his beard,” continued Malvoisin, 
coolly, “that you love this captive Jewess to distraction; 
and the more thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the greater 
will be his haste to end it by the death of the fair en- 
chantress ; while thou, taken in flagrant delict by the 
avowal of a crime contrary to thine oath, canst hope no 
aid of thy brethren, and must exchange all thy brilliant 
visions of ambition and power, to lift perhaps a mercenary 
spear in some of the petty quarrels between Flanders and 
Burgundy.” 

“ Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,” said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, after a moment’s reflection. “ I will give 
the hoary bigot no advantage over me; and for Rebecca, 
1 she hath not merited at my hand that I should expose rank 
and honor for her sake. I will cast her off; yes, I will 
leave her to her fate, unless — ” 

“ Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,” said 
I Malvoisin ; “ women are but the toys which amuse our 

S lighter hours; ambition is the serious business of life. 
Perish a thousand such frail baubles as this Jewess, be- 
fore thy manly step pause in the brilliant career that lies 
stretched before thee ! For the present we part, nor must 
we be seen to hold close conversation; I must order the 
hall for his judgment-seat.” 

“ What ! ” said Bois-Guilbert, “ so soon ? ” 

“ Aye,” replied the preceptor, “ trial moves rapidly 
on when the judge has determined the sentence before- 
hand.” 

“ Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, when he was left alone, 
“ thou art like to cost me dear. Why cannot I abandon 
thee to thy fate, as this calm hypocrite recommends ? One 
effort will I make to save thee ; but beware of ingratitude ! 
for, if I am again repulsed, my vengeance shall equal my 


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love. The life and honor of Bois-Guilbert must not be 
hazarded, where contempt and reproaches are his only ] 
reward.” 

The preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, ] 
5 when he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who ac- 1 
quainted him with the Grand Master’s resolution to bring j 
the Jewess to instant trial for sorcery. 

“ It is surely a dream,” said the preceptor ; “ we have j 
many Jewish physicians, and we call them not wizards 1 
10 though they work wonderful cures.” 

“ The Grand Master thinks otherwise,” said Mont- 1 
Fitchet; “and, Albert, I will be upright with thee: wizard 
or not, it were better that this miserable damsel die than 
that Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the order, 1 
15 or the order divided by internal dissension. Thou knowest I 
his high rank, his fame in arms; thou knowest the zeal j 
with which many of our brethren regard him ; but all this f 
will not avail him with our Grand Master, should he con- 1 
sider Brian as the accomplice, not the victim, of this 1 
20 Jewess. Were the souls of the twelve tribes in her single I 
body, it were better she suffered alone than that Bois- 1 
Guilbert were partner in her destruction.” 

“ I have been working him even now to abandon her,” | 
said Malvoisin ; “ but still, are there grounds enough to 
25 condemn this Rebecca for sorcery? Will not the Grand 
Master change his mind when he sees that the proofs are 
so weak? ” 

“ They must be strengthened, Albert,” replied Mont- f: 
Fitchet — “ they must be strengthened. Dost thou under- 
30 stand me ? ” 

“ I do,” said the preceptor, “ nor do I scruple to do 
aught for advancement of the order; but there is little 
time to find engines fitting.” 

“ Malvoisin, they must be found,” said Conrade ; “ well 
35 will it advantage both the order and thee. This Temple- 
stowe is a poor preceptory ; that of Maison-Dieu is worth | 
double its value. Thou knowest my interest with our old 
chief; find those who can carry this matter through, and 


Ivanhoe 


423 

thou art preceptor of Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent. 
How sayst thou ? ” 

“ There is,” replied Malvoisin, “ among those who came 
hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well know; 
servants they were to my brother Philip de Malvoisin, 
and passed from his service to that of Front-de-Boeuf. It 
may be they know something of the witcheries of this 
woman.” 

“ Away, seek them out instantly ; and hark thee, if a 
byzant or two will sharpen their memory, let them not be 
wanting.” 

“ They would swear the mother that bore them a sor- 
ceress for a zecchin,” said the preceptor. 

“Away, then,” said Mont-Fitchet ; “at noon the affair 
will proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest 
preparation since he condemned to the stake Hamet Alfagi, 
a convert who relapsed to the Moslem faith.” 

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of noon, 
when Rebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the private 
stair which led to her place of confinement. The noise 
announced the arrival of several persons, and the circum- 
stance rather gave her joy; for she was more afraid of 
the solitary visits of the fierce and passionate Bois-Guil- 
bert than of any evil that could befall her besides. The 
door of the chamber was unlocked, and Conrade and the 
preceptor Malvoisin entered, attended by four warders 
clothed in black, and bearing halberds. 

“ Daughter of an accursed race ! ” said the preceptor, 
“ arise and follow us.” 

“ Whither,” said Rebecca, “ and for what purpose ? ” 

“ Damsel,” answered Conrade, “ it is not for thee to 
question, but to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee, 
that thou art to be brought before the tribunal of the 
Grand Master of our holy order, there to answer for thine 
offenses.” 

“ May the God of Abraham be praised ! ” said Rebecca, 
folding her hands devoutly; “ the name of a judge, though 
an enemy to my people, is to me as the name of a protec- 


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tor. Most willingly do I follow thee; permit me only to 
wrap my veil around my head.” 

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, 
traversed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding-doors 
5 placed at the end, entered the great hall in which the 
Grand Master had for the time established his court of 
justice. 

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled with 
squires and yeomen, who made way, not without some 
10 difficulty, for Rebecca, attended by the preceptor and 
Mont-Fitchet, and followed by the guard of halberdiers, 
to move forward to the seat appointed for her. As she 
passed through the crowd, her arms folded and her head 
depressed, a scrap of paper was thrust into her hand, 
15 which she received almost unconsciously, and continued 
to hold without examining its contents. The assurance 
that she possessed some friend in this awful assembly gave 
her courage to look around, and to mark into whose pres- 
ence she had been conducted. She gazed, accordingly, 
20 upon the scene, which we shall endeavor to describe in the 
next chapter. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


P 

Stern was the law which bade its vot’ries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve; 

| Stern was the law, which at the winning wile 
I Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile; 

I But sterner still, when high the iron rod 
i Of tyrant power she shook, and call’d that power of God. 

The Middle Ages. 

The tribunal, erected for the trial of the innocent and 
: unhappy Rebecca, occupied the dais or elevated part of the 
upper end of the great hall — a platform which we have 
| already described as the place of honor, destined to be 
occupied by the most distinguished inhabitants or guests of 
| an ancient mansion. 

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the 
Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes of 
flowing white, holding in his hand the mystic staff which 
| bore the symbol of the order. At his feet was placed a 
! table, occupied by two scribes, chaplains of the order, 
i whose duty it was to reduce to formal record the proceed- 
ings of the day. The black dresses, bare scalps, and de- 
mure looks of these churchmen formed a strong contrast 
to the warlike appearance of the knights who attended, 
either as residing in the preceptory or as come thither to 
attend upon their Grand Master. The preceptors, of 
whom there were four present, occupied seats lower in 
height, and somewhat drawn back behind that of their 
superior; and the knights who enjoyed no such rank in 
the order were placed on benches still lower, and preserv- 
ing the same distance from the preceptors as these from 
the Grand Master. Behind them, but still upon the dais 
or elevated portion of the hall, stood the esquires of the 
order, in white dresses of an inferior quality. 

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The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most pro- 
found gravity; and in the faces of the knights might be 
perceived traces of military daring, united with the solemn 
carriage becoming men of a religious profession, and 
5 which, in the presence of their Grand Master, failed not to 
sit upon every brow. 

The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled with 
guards, holding partizans, and with other attendants whom 
curiosity had drawn thither to see at once a Grand Mas- 
10 ter and a Jewish sorceress. By far the greater part of 
those inferior persons were, in one rank or other, con- 
nected with the order, and were accordingly, distinguished 
by their black dresses. But peasants from the neighbor- 
ing country were not refused admittance; for it was the 
15 pride of Beaumanoir to render the edifying spectacle of 
the justice which he administered as public as possible. 
His large blue eyes seemed to expand as he gazed around 
the assembly, and his countenance appeared elated by the 
conscious dignity and imaginary merit of the part which 
20 he was about to perform. A psalm, which he himself 
accompanied with a deep mellow voice, which age had 
not deprived of its powers, commenced the proceedings of 
the day; and the solemn sounds, Venite, exultemus Dom- 
ino, so often sung by the Templars before engaging with 
25 earthly adversaries, was judged by Lucas most appropriate 
to introduce the approaching triumph, for such he deemed 
it, over the powers of darkness. The deep prolonged 
notes, raised by a hundred masculine voices accustomed 
to combine in the choral chant, arose to the vaulted roof 
30 of the hall, and rolled on amongst its arches with the 
pleasing yet solemn sound of the rushing of mighty 
waters. 

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced his 
eye slowly around the circle, and observed that the seat 
35 of one of the preceptors was vacant. Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert, by whom it had been occupied, had left his place, and 
was now standing near the extreme corner of one of the 
benches occupied by the knights companions of the Tem- 
ple, one hand extending his long mantle, so as in some 


Ivanhoe 


427 

degree to hide his face; while the other held his cross- 
handled sword, with the point of which, sheathed as it 
was, he was slowly drawing lines upon the oaken floor. 

“ Unhappy man ! ” said the Grand Master, after favor- 
ing him with a glance of compassion. “ Thou seest, Con- 
rade, how this holy work distresses him. To this can the 
light look of woman, aided by the Prince of the Powers 
of this world, bring a valiant and worthy knight ! Seest 
thou he cannot look upon us; he cannot look upon her; 
and who knows by what impulse from his tormentor his 
hand forms these cabalistic lines upon the floor? It may 
be our life and safety are thus aimed at ; but we spit at and 
defy the foul enemy. Semper Leo percutiatur ! ” 

This was communicated apart to his confidential fol- 
lower, Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then 
raised his voice and addressed the assembly. 

“ Reverend and valiant men, knights, preceptors, and 
companions of this holy order, my brethren and my chil- 
dren ! you also, well-born and pious esquires, who aspire 
to wear this Holy Cross ! and you also, Christian brethren, 
of every degree ! — be it known to you, that it is not de- 
fect of power in us which hath occasioned the assembling 
of this congregation ; for, however unworthy in our per- 
son, yet to us is committed, with this batoon, full power 
to judge and to try all that regards the weal of this our 
holy order. Holy St. Bernard, in the rule of our knightly 
and religious profession, hath said, in the fifty-ninth capi- 
tal, that he would not that brethren be called together in 
council, save at the will and command of the Master ; leav- 
ing it free to us, as to those more worthy fathers who 
have preceded us in this our office, to judge as well of the 
occasion as of the time and place in which a chapter of 
the whole order, or of any part thereof, may be convoked. 
Also, in all such chapters, it is our duty to hear the ad- 
vice of our brethren, and to proceed according to our own 
pleasure. But when the raging wolf hath made an inroad 
upon the flock, and carried off one member thereof, it is the 
duty of the kind shepherd to call his comrades together, 
that with bows and slings they may quell the invader, 


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according to our well-known rule, that the lion is ever to 
be beaten down. We have therefore summoned to our 
presence a Jewish woman, by name Rebecca, daughter of 
Isaac of York — a woman infamous for sortileges and for 
5 witcheries; whereby she hath maddened the blood, and 
besotted the brain, not of a churl, but of a knight; not of 
a secular knight, but of one devoted to the service of the 
Holy Temple; not of a knight companion, but of a pre- 
ceptor of our order, first in honor as in place. Our 
10 brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, is well known to our- 
selves, and to all degrees who now hear me, as a true 
and zealous champion of the Cross, by whose arm many 
deeds of valor have been wrought in the Holy Land, and 
the holy places purified from pollution by the blood of 
15 those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our 
brother’s sagacity and prudence been less in repute among 
his brethren than his valor and discipline; insomuch that 
knights, both in eastern and western lands, have named 
De Bois-Guilbert as one who may well be put in nomina- 
20 tion as successor to this batoon, when it shall please 
Heaven to release us from the toil of bearing it. If we 
were told that such a man, so honored, and so honorable, 
suddenly casting away regard for his character, his vows, 
his brethren, and his prospects, had associated to himself 
25 a Jewish damsel, wandered in this lewd company through 
solitary places, defended her person in preference to his 
own, and, finally, was so utterly blinded and besotted by 
his folly, as to bring her even to one of our own precep- 
tories, what should we say but that the noble knight was 
30 possessed by some evil demon, or influenced by some 
wicked spell? If we could suppose it otherwise, think 
not rank, valor, high repute, or any earthly consideration, 
should prevent us from visiting him with punishment, that 
the evil thing might be removed, even according to the 
35 text, Auferte malum ex vobis. For various and heinous 
are the acts of transgression against the rule of our blessed 
order in this lamentable history. 1st, He hath walked ac- 
cording to his proper will, contrary to capital 33, Quod 
nullus juxta propriam voluntatem incedat. 2d, He hath 


Ivanhoe 429 

held communication with an excommunicated person, cap- 
ital 57, Ut fratres non participent cum excommunicatis, 
and therefore hath a portion in Anathema Maranatha. 
3rd, He hath conversed with strange women, contrary 
to the capital, Ut fratres non conversentur cum extraneis 
mulierihus. 4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he hath, it is 
to be feared, solicited, the kiss of woman, by which, saith 
the last rule of our renowned order, Ut fugiantur oscula, 
the soldiers of the Cross are brought into a snare. For 
which heinous and multiplied guilt, Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert should be cut off and cast out from our congregation, 
were he the right hand and right eye thereof.” 

He paused. A low murmur went through the assembly. 
Some of the younger part, who had been inclined to smile 
at the statute De osculis fugiendis, became now grave 
enough, and anxiously waited what the Grand Master was 
next to propose. 

“ Such,” he said, “ and so great should indeed be the 
punishment of a Knight Templar who willfully offended 
against the rules of his order in such weighty points. 
But if, by means of charms and of spells, Satan had ob- 
tained dominion over the knight, perchance because he 
cast his eyes too lightly upon a damsel’s beauty, we are 
then rather to lament than chastise his backsliding; and, 
imposing on him only such penance as may purify him 
from his iniquity, we are to turn the full edge of our in- 
dignation upon the accursed instrument, which had so 
well-nigh occasioned his utter falling away. Stand forth, 
therefore, and bear witness, ye who have witnessed these 
unhappy doings, that we may judge of the sum and bear- 
ing thereof; and judge whether our justice may be satis- 
fied with the punishment of this infidel woman, or if we 
must go on, with a bleeding heart, to the further proceed- 
ing against our brother.” 

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks 
to which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavoring 
to save Rebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect 
of his personal defense in attending to her safety. The 
men gave these details with the exaggerations common 


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430 

to vulgar minds which have been strongly excited by any 
remarkable event, and their natural disposition to the 
marvelous was greatly increased by the satisfaction which 
their evidence seemed to afford to the eminent person 
5 for whose information it had been delivered. Thus the 
dangers which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in themselves 
sufficiently great, became portentous in their narrative. 
The devotion of the knight to Rebecca’s defense was ex- 
aggerated beyond the bounds not only of discretion, but 
10 even of the most frantic excess of chivalrous zeal; and 
his deference to what she said, even although her language 
was often severe and upbraiding, was painted as carried 
to an excess which, in a man of his haughty temper, 
seemed almost preternatural. 

15 The preceptor of Templestowe was then called on to 
describe the manner in which Bois-Guilbert. and the Jewess 
arrived at the preceptory. The evidence of Malvoisin 
was skillfully guarded. But while he apparently studied 
to spare the feelings of Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from 
20 time to time, such hints as seemed to infer that he labored 
under some temporary alienation of mind, so deeply did 
he appear to be enamored of the damsel whom he brought 
along with him. With sighs of penitence, the preceptor 
avowed his own contrition for having admitted Rebecca 
25 and her lover within the walls of the preceptory. “ But 
my defense,” he concluded, “ has been made in my con- 
fession to our most reverend father the Grand Master; 
he knows my motives were not evil, though my conduct 
may have been irregular. Joyfully will I submit to any 
30 penance he shall assign me.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well, brother Albert,” said Beau- 
manoir; “thy motives were good, since thou didst judge 
it right to arrest thine erring brother in his career of 
precipitate folly. But thy conduct was wrong; as he that 
35 would stop a runaway steed, and seizing by the stirrup 
instead of the bridle, receiveth injury himself, instead of 
accomplishing his purpose. Thirteen paternosters are as- 
signed by our pious founder for matins, and nine for 
vespers ; be those services doubled by thee. Thrice a-week 


Ivanhoe 


43i 

are Templars permitted the use of flesh; but do thou keep 
fast for all seven days. This do for six weeks to come, 
and thy penance is accomplished.” 

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the 
preceptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his 
superior, and resumed his seat. 

“ Were it not well, brethren,” said the Grand Master, 
“ that we examine something into the former life and 
conversation of this woman, especially that we may dis- 
cover whether she be one likely to use magical charms 
and spells, since the truths which we have heard may 
well incline us to suppose that in this unhappy course our 
erring brother has been acted upon by some infernal en- 
ticement and delusion ? ” 

Herman of Goodalricke was the fourth preceptor pres- 
ent; the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois- 
Guilbert himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, whose 
face was marked with scars inflicted by the saber of the 
Moslemah, and had great rank and consideration among 
his brethren. He arose and bowed to the Grand Master, 
who instantly granted him license of speech. “ I would 
crave to know, most reverend * father, of our valiant 
brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what he says to these 
wondrous accusations, and with what eye he himself now 
regards his unhappy intercourse with this Jewish 
maiden ? ” 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” said the Grand Master, “ thou 
hearest the question which our brother of Goodalricke de- 
sirest thou shouldst answer. I command thee to reply to 
him.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master 
when thus addressed, and remained silent. 

“ He is possessed by a dumb devil,” said the Grand 
Master. “ Avoid thee, Sathanas ! Speak, Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, I conjure thee, by this symbol of our holy or- 
der.” 

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising 
scorn and indignation, the expression of which, he was 
well aware, would have little availed him. “ Brian de 


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Bois-Guilbert,” he answered, “ replies not, most reverend 
father, to such wild and vague charges. If his honor 
be impeached, he will defend it with his body, and with 
that sword which has often fought for Christendom.” 

5 “ We forgive thee, brother Brian,” said the Grand Mas- 

ter ; “ though that thou hast boasted thy warlike achieve- 
ments before us is a glorifying of thine own deeds, and 
cometh of the Enemy, who tempteth us to exalt our own 
worship. But thou hast our pardon, judging thou speak- 
10 est less of thine own suggestion than from the impulse 
of him whom, by Heaven’s leave, we will quell and drive 
forth from our assembly.” A glance of disdain flashed 
from the dark fierce eyes of Bois-Guilbert, but he made 
no reply. “ And now,” pursued the Grand Master, “ since 
15 our brother of Goodalricke’s question has been thus im- 
perfectly answered, pursue we our quest, brethren, and 
with our patron’s assistance we will search to the bottom 
this mystery of iniquity. Let those who have aught to 
witness of the life and conversation of this Jewish woman 
20 stand forth before us.” 

There was a bustle in the lower part of the hall, and 
when the Grand Master' inquired the reason, it was re- 
plied, there was in the crowd a bedridden man, whom the 
prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his limbs, by a 
25 miraculous balsam. 

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged for- 
ward to the bar, terrified at the penal consequences which 
he might have incurred by the guilt of having been cured 
of the palsy by a Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured he cer- 
30 tainly was not, for he supported himself forward on 
crutches to give evidence. Most unwilling was his testi- 
mony, and given with many tears; but he admitted that 
two years since, when residing at York, he was suddenly 
afflicted with a sore disease, while laboring for Isaac the 
35 rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he had been 
unable to stir from his bed until the remedies applied by 
Rebecca’s directions, and especially a warming and spicy- 
smelling balsam, had in some degree restored him to the 
use of his limbs. Moreover, he said, she had given him 


Ivanhoe 


Ivanhoe 433 

; a pot of that precious ointment, and furnished him with 
; a piece of money withal, to return to the house of his 
i father, near to Templestowe. “ And may it please your 
gracious reverence,” said the man, “ I cannot think the 
| damsel meant harm by me, though she hath the ill hap to 
i be a Jewess; for even when I used her remedy, I said the 
b pater and the creed, and it never operated a whit less 
I kindly.” 

“ Peace, slave,” said the Grand Master, “ and begone ! 
It well suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinket- 

I ing with hellish cures, and to be giving your labor to the 
sons of mischief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose dia- 
j eases for the very purpose of removing them, in order to 
bring into credit some diabolical fashion of cure. Hast 
thou that unguent of which thou speakest?” 

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling 
; hand, produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew char- 
acters on the lid, which was, with most of the audience, 
a sure proof that the devil had stood apothecary. Beau- 
£ manoir, after crossing himself, took the box into his hand, 
>f? and, learned in most of the Eastern tongues, read with 
ease the motto on the lid — “The Lion of the Tribe of 
1 Judah hath conquered.” “ Strange powers of Sathanas,” 
i said he, “ which can convert Scripture into blasphemy, 
ri! mingling poison with our necessary food ! Is there no 
leech here who can tell us the ingredients of this mystic 
? unguent ? ” 

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a 
monk, the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they 
knew nothing of the materials, excepting that they sa- 
\i: vored of myrrh and camphire, which they took to be Ori- 
ental herbs. But with the true professional hatred to a 
successful practitioner of their art, they insinuated that, 
since the medicine was beyond their own knowledge, it 
| must necessarily have been compounded from an unlawful 
i and magical pharmacopoeia ; since they themselves, though 
no conjurers, fully understood every branch of their art, 
so far as it might be exercised with the good faith of a 
Christian. When this medical research was ended, the 


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Saxon peasant desired humbly to have back the medicine 
which he had found so salutary; but the Grand Master 
frowned severely at the request. “ What is thy name, 
fellow ? ” said he to the cripple. 

5 “ Higg, the son of Snell,” answered the peasant. 

“ Then, Higg, son of Snell,” said the Grand Master, 

“ I tell thee, it is better to be bedridden than to accept 
the benefit of unbelievers’ medicine that thou mayest' 
arise and walk; better to despoil infidels of their treasure 
10 by the strong hand than to accept of them benevolent 
gifts, or do them service for wages. Go thou, and do as 
I have said.” 

“ Alack,” said the peasant, “ an it shall not displease . 
your reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I 
15 am but a maimed man; but I will tell my two brethren, 
who serve the rich rabbi Nathan ben Samuel [Israel], 
that your mastership says it is more lawful to rob him than 
to render him faithful service.” 

“ Out with the prating villain ! ” said Beaumanoir, who 
20 was not prepared to refute this practical application of his 
general maxim. 

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, 
interested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until he 
should learn her doom, even at the risk of again encoun- 
25 tering the frown of that severe judge, the terror of which 
withered his very heart within him. 

At this period of the trial, the Grand Master com- , 
manded Rebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for , 
the first time, she replied patiently, but with dignity, “ That j 
30 it was not the wont of the daughters of her people to un- 
cover their faces when alone in an assembly of strangers.” ! 
The sweet tones of her voice, and the softness of her 
reply, impressed on the audience a sentiment of pity and 
sympathy. But Beaumanoir, in whose mind the suppres- 
35 sion of each feeling of humanity which could interfere j 
with his imagined duty was a virtue of itself, repeated I 
his commands that his victim should be unveiled. The I 
guards were about to remove her veil accordingly, when 
she stood up before the Grand Master, and said, “ Nay, ! 


Ivanhoe 435 

t but for the love of your own daughters — alas,” she said, 
j recollecting herself, “ ye have no daughters ! — yet for the 
I remembrance of your mothers, for the love of your sis- 
ft ters, and of female decency, let me not be thus handled 
| in your presence : it suits not a maiden to be disrobed 
1 by such rude grooms. I will obey you,” she added, with 
an expression of patient sorrow in her voice, which had 
1 almost melted\he heart of Beaumanoir himself ; “ ye are 
ft elders among your people, and at your command I will 
I show the features of an ill-fated maiden.” 

1 She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a 
■ countenance in which bashfulness contended with dignity. 
Ij Her exceeding beauty excited a murmur of surprise, and 
l)the younger knights told each other with their eyes, in 
silent correspondence, that Brian’s best apology was in 
the power of her real charms, rather than of her imag- 
r inary witchcraft. But Higg, the son of Snell, felt most 
V deeply the effect produced by the sight of the countenance 
of his benefactress. “ Let me go forth,” he said to the 
k wardens at the door of the hall — “let me go forth! To 
look at her again will kill me, for I have had a share in 
femurdering her.” 

“ Peace, poor man,” said Rebecca, when she heard his 
' exclamation ; “ thou hast done me no harm by speaking 
• the truth; thou canst not aid me by thy complaints or 
lamentations. Peace, I pray thee ; go home and save thy- 
self.” 

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of 
jthe warders, who were apprehensive lest his clamorous 
grief should draw upon them reprehension, and upon 
himself punishment. But he promised to be silent, and 
was permitted to remain. The two men-at-arms, with 
t whom Albert Malvoisin had not failed to communicate 
upon the import of their testimony, were now called for- 
|ward. Though both were hardened and inflexible villains, 
jpthe sight of the captive maiden, as well as her excelling 
II beauty, at first appeared to stagger them; but an ex- 
^pressive glance from the preceptor of Templestowe re- 
I stored them to their dogged composure; and they deliv- 


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Ivanhoe 


436 

ered, with a precision which would have seemed suspicious 
to more impartial judges, circumstances either altogether 
fictitious or trivial, and natural in themselves, but ren- 
dered pregnant with suspicion by the exaggerated manner 
5 in which they were told, and the sinister commentary, | 
which the witnesses added to the facts. The circum- j 
stances of their evidence would have been, in modern * 
days, divided into two classes — those which were imma- 1 
terial and those which were actually and physically impossi- i 
10 ble. But both were, in those ignorant and superstitious I 
times, easily credited as proofs of guilt. The first class 9 
set forth that Rebecca was heard to mutter to herself in - 
an unknown tongue; that the songs she sung by fits were 
of a strangely sweet sound, which made the ears of the 
15 hearer tingle and his heart throb; that she spoke at times 
to herself, and seemed to look upward for a reply; that 
her garments were of a strange and mystic form, unlike 
those of women of good repute; that she had rings im- 
pressed with cabalistical devices, and that strange char- 
20 acters were broidered on her veil. All these circum- I 
stances, so natural and so trivial, were gravely listened to | 
as proofs, or at least as affording strong suspicions, that j 
Rebecca had unlawful correspondence with mystical pow- | 
ers. 

25 But there was less equivocal testimony, which the 
credulity of the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily 1 
swallowed, however incredible. One of the soldiers had -'j 
seen her work a cure upon a wounded man brought with 1 
them to the castle of Torquilstone. “ She did,” he said, f 
30 “ make certain signs upon the wound, and repeated cer- 1 
tain mysterious words, which he blessed God h^s under- 1 
stood not, when the iron head of a square crossbow bolt t 
disengaged itself from the wound, the bleeding was ? 
stanched, the wound was closed, and the dying man was, ( 
35 within the quarter of an hour, walking upon the ramparts, 
and assisting the witness in managing a mangonel, or 
machine for hurling stones.” This legend was probably 
founded upon the fact that Rebecca had attended on the 
wounded Ivanhoe when in the castle of Torquilstone. 


Ivanhoe 


437 

But it was the more difficult to dispute the accuracy of 
the witness, as, in order to produce real evidence in sup- 
| port of his verbal testimony, he drew from his pouch the 
i very bolt-head which, according to his story, had been 
1 miraculously extracted from the wound; and as the iron 
ij| weighed a full ounce, it completely confirmed the tale, 
however marvelous. 

His comrade had been a witness from a neighboring 
battlement of the scene betwixt Rebecca and Bois-Guil- 
I bert, when she was upon the point of precipitating her- 
I self from the top of the tower. Not to be behind his 
companion, this fellow stated that he had seen Rebecca 
perch herself upon the parapet of the turret, and there 
| take the form of a milk-white swan, under which appear- 
1 ance she flitted three times round the castle of Torquil- 

I stone; then again settle on the turret, and once mor.e as- 
J sume the female form. 

Less than one-half of this weighty evidence would have 
I been sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and ugly, 
| even though she had not been a Jewess. United with 
I that fatal circumstance, the body of proof was too weighty 
for Rebecca’s youth, though combined with the most ex- 
quisite beauty. 

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now 
I in a solemn tone demanded of Rebecca what she had to 
I say against the sentence of condemnation which he was 
| about to pronounce. 

“ To invoke your pity,” said the lovely Jewess, with a 
j voice somewhat tremulous with emotion, “ would, I am 
aware, be as useless as I should hold it mean. To state, 
that to relieve the sick and wounded of another religion 
cannot be displeasing to the acknowledged Founder of 
both our faiths, were also unavailing; to plead, that many 
things which these men — whom may Heaven pardon ! — 
have spoken against me are impossible, would avail me but 
little, since you believe in their possibility.; and still less 
would it advantage me to explain that the peculiarities 
of my dress, language, and manners are those of my 
people — I had well-nigh said of my country, but, alas ! we 


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Ivanhoe 


43 S 

have no country. Nor will I even vindicate myself at 
the expense of my oppressor, who stands there listening 
to the fictions and surmises which seem to convert the 
tyrant into the victim. God be judge between him and 
5 me ! but rather would I submit to ten such deaths as your *j 
pleasure may denounce against me than listen to the suit 
which that man of Belial has urged upon me — friend- 
less, defenseless, and his prisoner. But he is of your 
own faith, and his lightest affirmance would weigh down 
10 the most solemn protestations of the distressed Jewess. -1 
I will not therefore return to himself the charge brought ^ 
against me; but to himself — yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, I 
to thyself I appeal, whether these accusations are not jj 
false ? as monstrous and calumnious as they are deadly ? ” I 
15 There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brian de Bois- 1 
Guilbert. He was silent. 

“ Speak,” she said, “ if thou art a man ; if thou art a 
Christian, speak ! I conjure thee, by the habit which thou 1 
dost wear — by the name thou dost inherit — by the i 
20 knighthood thou dost vaunt — by the honor of thy mother 1 
— by the tomb and the bones of thy father — I conjure | 
thee to say, are these things true?” 

“ Answer her, brother,” said the Grand Master, “ if ] 
the Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee 1 
25 power.” 

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending J 
passions, which almost convulsed his features, and it was 1 
with a constrained voice that at last he replied, looking J 
to Rebecca — “ The scroll ! — the scroll ! ” 

SO “ Aye,” said Beaumanoir, “ this is indeed testimony ! 1 
The victim of her witcheries can only name rhe fatal 5 
scroll, the spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the cause 1 
of his silence.” 

But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words 1 
35 extorted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her 
eye upon the slip of parchment which she continued to j 
hold in her hand, she read written thereupon in the 
Arabian character, “ Demand a champion ! ” The mur- 
muring commentary which ran through the assembly at 


Ivanhoe 


439 

the strange reply of Bois-Guilbert gave Rebecca leisure 
to examine and instantly to destroy the scroll unob- 
served. When the whisper had ceased, the Grand Master 
spoke. 

“ Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evi- 
dence of this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well per- 
ceive, the Enemy is yet too powerful. Hast thou aught 
else to say ? ” 

“ There is yet one chance of life left to me/’ said Re- 
becca, “ even by your own fierce laws. Life has been 
miserable — miserable, at least, of late — but I will not 
cast away the gift of God while He affords me the means 
of defending it. I deny this charge: I maintain my in- 
nocence, and I declare the falsehood of this accusation. 
I challenge the privilege of trial by combat, and will ap- 
pear by my champion.” 

“ And who, Rebecca,” replied the Grand Master, “ will 
lay lance in rest for a sorceress ? who will be the champion 
of a Jewess ? ” 

“ God will raise me up a champion,” said Rebecca. “ It 
cannot be that in merry England, the hospitable, the gen- 
erous, the free, where so many are ready to peril their 
lives for honor, there will not be found one to fight for 
justice. But it is enough that I challenge the trial by 
combat: there lies my gage.” 

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and 
flung it down before the Grand Master with an air of 
mingled simplicity and dignity which excited universal 
surprise and admiration. 


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CHAPTER XXXVIII 


There I throw my gage, 

To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of martial daring. 

Richard II. 

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the mien 
and appearance of Rebecca. He was not originally a 
cruel or even a severe man; but with passions by nature 
cold, and with a high, though mistaken, sense of duty, 
5 his heart had been gradually hardened by the ascetic life 
which he pursued, the supreme power which he enjoyed, 
and the supposed necessity of subduing infidelity and 
eradicating heresy which he conceived peculiarly incum- 
bent on him. His features relaxed in their usual severity 
10 as he gazed upon the beautiful creature before him, alone, 
unfriended, and defending herself with so much spirit 
and courage. He crossed himself twice, as doubting 
whence arose the unwonted softening of a heart which on 
such occasions used to resemble in hardness the steel of 
15 his sword. At length he spoke. 

“ Damsel,” he said, “ if the pity I feel for thee arise 
from any practice thine evil arts have made .on me, great 
is thy guilt. But I rather judge it the kinder feelings 
of nature, which grieves that so goodly a form should 
20 be a vessel of perdition. Repent, my daughter, confess 
thy witchcrafts, turn thee from thine evil faith, embrace 
this holy emblem, and all shall yet be well with thee here 
and hereafter. In some sisterhood of the strictest order 
shalt thou have time for prayer and fitting penance, and 
25 that repentance not to be repented of. This do and live: 
what has the law of Moses done for thee that thou should- 
est die for it? ” 


440 


Ivanhoe 


441 


“ It was the law of my fathers/’ said Rebecca; “it was 
delivered in thunders and in storms upon the mountain 
of Sinai, in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, 
ye believe. It is, you say, recalled; but so my teachers 
have not taught me.” 

“ Let our chaplain,” said Beaumanoir, “ stand forth, 
and tell this obstinate infidel — ” 

“ Forgive the interruption,” said Rebecca, meekly ; “ I 
am a maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion; but I 
can die for it, if it be God’s will. Let me pray your an- 
swer to my demand of a champion.” 

“ Give me her glove,” said Beaumanoir. “ This is in- 
deed,” he continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture 
and slender fingers, “ a slight and frail gage for a pur- 
pose so deadly ! Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and 
light glove of thine is to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, 
so is thy cause to that of the Temple, for it is our 
order which thou hast defied.” 

“ Cast my innocence into the scale,” answered Re- 
becca, “ and the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of 
iron.” 

“ Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy 
guilt, and in that bold challenge which thou hast made?” 

“ I do persist, noble sir,” answered Rebecca. 

“ So be it then, in the name of Heaven,” said the Grand 
Master ; “ and may God show the right ! ” 

“ Amen,” replied the preceptors around him, and the 
word was deeply echoed by the whole assembly. 

“ Brethren,” said Beaumanoir, “ you are aware that we 
might well have refused to this woman the benefit of the 
trial by combat; but, though a Jewess and an unbeliever, 
she is also a stranger and defenseless, and God forbid that 
she should ask the benefit of our mild laws and that it 
should be refused to her. Moreover, we are knights and 
soldiers as well as men of religion, and shame it were to 
us, upon any pretense, to refuse proffered combat. Thus, 
therefore, stands the case. Rebecca, the daughter of 
Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and suspicious cir- 
cumstances, defamed of sorcery practiced on the person 


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Ivanhoe 


442 

of a noble knight of our holy order, and hath challenged 
the combat in proof of her innocence. To whom, rever- 
end brethren, is it your opinion that we should deliver 
the gage of battle, naming him, at the same time, to be 
5 our champion on the field ? ” 

“ To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns,” 
said the preceptor of Goodalricke, “ and who, moreover, 
best knows how the truth stands in this matter.” 

“ But if,” said the Grand Master, “ our brother Brian 
10 be under the influence of a charm or a spell — we speak 
but for the sake of precaution, for to the arm of none of 
our holy order would we more willingly confide this or a 
more weighty cause.” 

“ Reverend father,” answered the preceptor of Goodal- 
15 ricke, “ no spell can affect the champion who comes for- 
ward to fight for the judgment of God.” 

“ Thou sayest right, brother,” said the Grand Master. 
“ Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert. It is our charge to thee, brother,” he con- 
20 tinued, addressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, “ that thou 
do thy battle manfully, nothing doubting that the good 
cause shall triumph. And do thou, Rebecca, attend, that 
we assign thee the third day from the present to find a 
champion.” 

25 “ That is but brief space,” answered Rebecca, “ for 

a stranger, who is also of another faith, ^to find one 
who will do battle, wagering life and honor for her 
cause, against a knight who is called an approved 
soldier.” 

30 “We may not extend it,” answered the Grand Master; 
“ the field must be foughten in our own presence, and 
divers weighty causes call us on the fourth day from 
hence.” 

“ God’s will be done ! ” said Rebecca ; “ I put my trust in 
35 Him, to whom an instant is as effectual to save as a whole 
age.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well, damsel,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter ; “ but well know we who can array himself like an 
angel of light. It remains but to name a fitting place of 


Ivanhoe 


443 

combat, and, if it so hap, also of execution. Where is the 
preceptor of this house ? ” 

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca’s glove in his 
hand, was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but 
in a low voice. 

“ How ! ” said the Grand Master, “ will he not receive 
the gage ? ” 

“ He will — he doth, most reverend father,” said Mal- 
voisin, slipping the glove under his own mantle. “ And 
for the place of combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists of 
St. George belonging to this preceptory, and used by us 
for military exercise.” 

“ It is well,” said the Grand Master. “ Rebecca, in those 
lists shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest 
to do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited by the 
judgment of God, thou shalt then die the death of a sor- 
ceress, according to doom. Let this our judgment be 
recorded, and the record read aloud that no one may pre- 
tend ignorance.” 

One of the chaplains who acted as clerks to the chapter 
immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume, which 
contained the proceedings of the Templar Knights when 
solemnly assembled on such occasions; and when he had 
finished writing, the other read aloud the sentence of the 
Grand Master, which, when translated from the Norman- 
French in which it was couched, was expressed as fol- 
lows : — 

“ Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being 
attainted of sorcery, seduction, and other damnable prac- 
tices, practiced on a knight of the most holy order of the 
Temple of Zion, doth deny the same, and saith that the 
testimony delivered against her this day is false, wicked, 
and disloyal; and that by lawful essoine of her body, as 
being unable to combat in her own behalf, she doth offer, 
by a champion instead thereof, to avouch her case, he per- 
forming his loyal devoir in all knightly sort, with such 
arms as to gage of battle do fully appertain, and that at 
her peril and cost. And therewith she proffered her gage. 
And the gage having been delivered to the noble lord and 


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Ivanhoe 


knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, of the holy order of the 
Temple of Zion, he was appointed to do this battle in 
behalf of his order and himself, as injured and impaired 
by the practices of the appellant. Wherefore the most 
5 reverend father and puissant lord, Lucas Marquis of 
Beaumanoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of the 
said essoine of the appellant’s body, and assigned the third 
day for the said combat, the place being the inclosure 
called the lists of St. George, near to the preceptory of 
10 Templestowe. And the Grand Master appointed the ap- 
pellant to appear there by her champion, on pain of doom, 
as a person convicted of sorcery or seduction; and also 
the defendant so to appear, under the penalty of being 
held and adjudged recreant in case of default; and the 
15 noble lord and most reverend father aforesaid appointed 
the battle to be done in his own presence, and according 
to all that is commendable and profitable in such a case. 
And may God aid the just cause ! ” 

“ Amen ! ” said the Grand Master ; and the word was 
20 echoed by all around. Rebecca spoke not, but she looked 
up to Heaven, and, folding her hands, remained for a 
minute without change of attitude. She then modestly 
reminded the Grand Master that she ought to be per- 
mitted some opportunity of free communiesrtion with her 
25 friends, for the purpose of making her condition known 
to them, and procuring, if possible, some champion to 
fight in her behalf. 

“ It is just and lawful,” said the Grand Master; “ choose 
what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free 
30 communication with thee in thy prison-chamber.” 

“ Is there,” said Rebecca, “ any one here who, either 
for love of a good cause or for ample hire, will do the 
errand of a distressed being?” 

All were silent; for none thought it safe, in the pres- 
35 ence of the Grand Master, to avow any interest in the 
calumniated prisoner, lest he should be suspected of lean- 
ing towards Judaism. Not even the prospect of reward, 
far less any feelings of compassion alone, could surmount 
this apprehension. 


Ivanhoe 


445 

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anx- 
iety, and then exclaimed, “ Is it really thus ? And in 
English land am I to be deprived of the poor chance of 
safety which remains to me, for want of an act of charity 
which would not be refused to the worst criminal ? ” 5 

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, “ I am but a 
maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing 
to her charitable assistance. I will do thine errand,” he 
added, addressing Rebecca, “ as well as a crippled object 
can, and happy were my limbs fleet enough to repair the 10 
mischief done by my tongue. Alas ! when I boasted of 
thy charity, I little thought I was leading thee into dan- 
ger ! ” 

“ God,” said Rebecca, “ is the disposer of all. He can 
turn back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest in- 15 
strument. To execute His message the snail is as sure a 
messenger as the falcon. Seek out Isaac of York — here 
is that will pay for horse and man — let him have this 
scroll. I know not if it be of Heaven the spirit which 
inspires me, but most truly do I judge that I am not 20 
to die this death, and that a champion will be raised up for 
me. Farewell ! Life and death are in thy haste.” 

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few 
lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dis- 
suaded him from touching a document so suspicious; but 25 
Higg was resolute in the service of his benefactress. 

“ She had saved his body,” he said, “ and he was confident 
she did not mean to peril his soul.” 

“ I will get me,” he said, “ my neighbor Buthan’s good 
capul, and I will be at York within as brief space as man 30 
and beast may.” 

But, as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for 
within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the preceptory 
he met with two riders, whom, by their dress and their 
huge yellow caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approach- 35 
ing more nearly, discovered that one of them was his 
ancient employer, Isaac of York. The other was the 
Rabbi ben Samuel [Israel] ; and both had approached as 
near to the preceptory as they dared, on hearing that the 


446 Ivanhoe 

Grand Master had summoned a chapter for the trial of a 
sorceress. 

“ Brother ben Samuel/’ said Isaac, “ my soul is dis- 
quieted, and I wot not why. This charge of necromancy 
5 is right often used for cloaking evil practices on our peo- 
ple.” 

“ Be of good comfort, brother,” said the physician ; 
“ thou canst deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing the 
mammon of unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase 
10 immunity at their hands: it rules the savage minds of 
those ungodly men, even as the signet of the mighty 
Solomon was said to command the evil genii. But what 
poor wretch comes hither upon his crutches, desiring, as 
I think, some speech of me? Friend,” continued the phy- 
15 sician, addressing Higg, the son of Snell, “ I refuse thee 
not the aid of mine art, but I relieve not with one asper 
those who beg for alms upon the highway. Out upon 
thee ! Hast thou the palsy in thy legs ? then let thy hands 
work for thy livelihood ; for, albeit thou be’st unfit for a 
20 speedy post, or for a careful shepherd, or for the warfare, 
or for the service of a hasty master, yet there be occupa- 
tions — How now, brother ? ” said he, interrupting his 
harangue to look towards Isaac, who “Had but glanced at 
the scroll which Higg offered, when, uttering a deep 
25 groan, he fell from his mule like a dying man, and lay for 
a minute insensible. 

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily 
applied the remedies which his art suggested for the re- 
covery of his companion. He had even taken from his 
30 pocket a cupping apparatus, and was about to proceed to 
phlebotomy, when the object of his anxious solicitude 
suddenly revived ; but it was to dash his cap from his head, 
and to throw dust on his gray hairs. The physician was 
at first inclined to ascribe this sudden and violent emo- 
35 tion to the effects of insanity; and, adhering to his orig- 
inal purpose, began once again to handle his implements. 
But Isaac soon convinced him of his error. 

“ Child of my sorrow,” he said, “ well shouldst thou be 
called Benoni, instead of Rebecca ! Why should thy 


Ivanhoe 


447 

death bring down my gray hairs to the grave, till, in the 
bitterness of my heart, I cursed God and die ! ” 

“ Brother,” said the Rabbi, in great surprise, “ art thou 
i a father in Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto 
■ these ? I trust that the child of thy house yet liveth ? ” 

“ She liveth,” answered Isaac ; “ but it is as Daniel, who 
j was called Belteshazzar, even when within the den of the 
!j lions. She is captive unto those men of Belial, and they 
| will wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing neither for 
j! her youth nor her comely favor. O ! she was as a crown 
of green palms to my gray locks; and she must wither 
j in a night, like the gourd of Jonah ! Child of my love ! 
— child of my old age ! — oh, Rebecca, daughter of 
Rachael ! the darkness of the shadow of death hath en- 
compassed thee.” 

“ Yet read the scroll,” said the Rabbi ; “ peradventure it 
j may be that we may yet find out a way of deliverance.” 

“ Do thou read, brother,” answered Isaac, “ for mine 
eyes are as a fountain of water.” 

The physician read, but in their native language, the 
following words: — 

“To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles 
call Isaac of York, peace and the blessing of the promise 
be multiplied unto thee ! My father, I am as one doomed 
to die for that which my soul knoweth not, even for the 
crime of witchcraft. My father, if a strong man can 
be found to do battle for my cause with sword and spear, 
according to the custom of the Nazarenes, and that within 
the lists of Templestowe, on the third day from this time, 
peradventure our fathers’ God will give him strength to 
defend the innocent, and her who hath none to help her. 
But if this may not be, let the virgins of our people 
mourn for me as for one cast ofif, and for the hart that is 
stricken by the hunter, and for the flower which is cut 
down by the scythe of the mower. Wherefore look now 
what thou doest, and whether there be any rescue. One 
Nazarene warrior might indeed bear arms in my behalf, 
even Wilfred, son of Cedric, whom the Gentiles call 
Ivanhoe. But he may not yet endure the weight of his 


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Ivanhoe 


armor. Nevertheless, send the tidings unto him, my fa- 
ther; for he hath favor among the strong men of his 
people, and as he was our companion in the house of 
bondage, he may find someone to do battle for my sake. 
5 And say unto him — even unto him — even unto Wilfred, 
the son of Cedric, that if Rebecca live, or if Rebecca die, 
she liveth or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is charged 
withal. And if it be the will of God that thou shalt be 
deprived of thy daughter, do not thou tarry, old man, in 
10 this land of bloodshed and cruelty; but betake thyself to 
Cordova, where thy brother liveth in safety, under the 
shadow of the throne, even of the throne of Boabdil the 
Saracen ; for less cruel are the cruelties of the Moors unto 
the race of Jacob than the cruelties of the Nazarenes of 
15 England.” 

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben 
Samuel [Israel] read the letter, and then again resumed 
the gestures and exclamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing 
his garments, besprinkling his head with dust, and ejacu- 
20 lating, “ My daughter ! my daughter ! flesh of my flesh, and 
bone of my bone ! ” 

“Yet,” said the Rabbi, “take courage, for this grief 
availeth nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this 
Wilfred, the son of Cedric. It may be he will help thee 
25 with counsel or with strength; for the youth hath favor 
in the eyes of 'Richard, called of the Nazarenes Coeur- 
de-Lion, and the tidings that he hath returned are con- 
stant in the land. It may be that he may obtain his 
letter, and his signet, commanding these men of blood 
30 who take their name from the Temple to the dishonor 
thereof, that they proceed not in their purposed wicked- 
ness.” 

“ I will seek him out,” said Isaac, “ for he is a good 
youth, and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But 
35 he cannot bear his armor, and what other Christian shall 
do battle for the oppressed of Zion ? ” 

“ Nay, but,” said the Rabbi, “ thou speakest as one that 
knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their 
valor, even as with gold thou buyest thine own safety. 


Ivanhoe 


449 

I Be of good courage, and do thou set forward to find out 
| this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for 
\ great sin it were to leave thee in thy calamity. I will 
! hie me to the city of York, where many warriors and 
j strong men are assembled, and doubt not I will find 
among them someone who will do battle for thy daugh- 
j ter; for gold is their god, and for riches will they pawn 
their lives as well as their hands. Thou wilt fulfill, my 
I brother, such promise as I may make unto them in thy 
name ? ” 

“Assuredly, brother,” said Isaac, “and Heaven be 
j praised that raised me up a comforter in my misery ! 
Howbeit, grant them not their full demand at once, for 
thou shalt find it the quality of this accursed people that 
they will ask pounds, and peradventure accept of ounces. 
Nevertheless, be it as thou wiliest, for I am distracted in 
this thing, and what would my gold avail me if the child of 
my love should perish ! ” 

“ Farewell,” said the physician, “ and may it be to thee 
as thy heart desireth.” 

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their sev- 
eral roadst The cripple peasant remained for some time 
looking after them. 

“These dog Jews!” said he; “to take no more notice 
of a free guild-brother than if I were a bond slave or a 
Turk, or a circumcised Hebrew like themselves ! They 
might have flung me a mancus or two, however. I was 
not obliged to bring their unhallowed scrawls, and run 
the risk of being bewitched, as more folks than one told 
me. And what care I for the bit of gold that the wench 
gave me, if I am to come to harm from the priest next 
Easter at confession, and be obliged to give him twice 
as much to make it up with him, and be called the Jew’s 
flying post all my life, as it may hap, into the bargain? 
I think I was bewitched in earnest when I was beside that 
girl ! But it was always so with Jew or Gentile, whosoever 
came near her: none could stay when she had an errand 
to go ; and still, whenever I think of her, I would give shop 
and tools to save her life.” 


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CHAPTER XXXIX 


O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art, » 

My bosom is proud as thine own. 

Seward. 

It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it 
could be called such, had taken place, that a low knock 
was heard at the door of Rebecca’s prison-chamber. It 
disturbed not the inmate, who was then engaged in the 
5 evening prayer recommended by her religion, and which 
concluded with a hymn we have ventured thus to translate 
into English : — 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out of the land of bondage came, 

10 Her fathers’ God before her moved, 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 

By day, along the astonish’d lands 
The cloudy pillar glided slow; 

By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands 
15 Return’d the fiery column’s glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer’d keen, 

And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays, 

With priest’s and warrior’s voice between. 

20 No portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone; 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen, 

25 When brightly shines the prosperous day, 

Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
450 


Ivanhoe 


45i 


To temper the deceitful ray. 

And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path 
In shade and storm the frequent night, 

Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 5 

Our harps we left by Babel’s streams, 

The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn; 

No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 

But Thou hast said, the blood of goat, 10 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize; 

A contrite heart, an humble thought, 

Are Mine accepted sacrifice. 

When the sounds of Rebecca’s devotional hymn had 
died away in silence, the low knock at the door was again 15 
renewed. “ Enter,” she said, “ if thou art a friend ; and 
if a foe, I have not the means of refusing thy entrance.” 

“ I am,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apart- 
ment, “ friend or foe, Rebecca, as the event of this inter- 
view shall make me.” 20 

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious pas- 
sion she considered as the root of her misfortunes, Re- 
becca drew backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet 
not a timorous, demeanor into the farthest corner of the 
apartment, as if determined to retreat as far as she could, £5 
but to stand her ground when retreat became no longer 
possible. She drew herself into an attitude not of de- 
fiance, but of resolution, as one that would avoid provok- 
ing assault, yet was resolute to repel it, being offered, to 
the utmost of her power. 33 

“ You have no reason to fear me, Rebecca,” said the 
Templar; “or, if I must qualify my speech, you have at 
least now no reason to fear me.” 

“ I fear you not, Sir Knight,” replied Rebecca, although 
her short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her 35 
accents ; “ my trust is strong, and I fear thee not.” 

“ You have no cause,” answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; 

“ my former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. 
Within your call are guards over whom I have no author- 


452 


Ivanhoe 


ity. They are designed to conduct you to death, Rebecca, 
yet would not suffer you to be insulted by any one, even 
by me, were my frenzy — for frenzy it is — to urge me 
so far.” 

5 “ May Heaven be praised! ” said the Jewess; “death is 

the least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.” 

“Aye,” replied the Templar, “the idea of death is easily 
received by the courageous mind, when the road to it is 
sudden and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a 
10 sword, were to me little ; to you, a spring from a dizzy bat- 
tlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, ] 
compared with what either thinks disgrace. Mark me — j 
I say this — perhaps mine own sentiments of honor are not ] 
less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine are ; but we know alike j 
15 how to die for them.” 

“Unhappy man,” said the Jewess; “and art thou con- J 
demned to expose thy life for principles of which thy sober | 
judgment does not acknowledge the solidity? Surely this f 
is a parting with your treasure for that which is not bread. 
20 But deem not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on j 
the wild and changeful billows of human opinion; but* 
mine is anchored on the Rock of Ages.” 

“ Silence, maiden,” answered the Templar ; “ such dis- | 
course now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die 
25 not a sudden and easy death, such as misery chooses and 
despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, protracted course 
of torture, suited to what the diabolical bigotry of these 
men calls thy crime.” 

“And to whom — if such my fate — to whom do I owe 
30 this? ” said Rebecca; “ surely only to him who, for a most J 
selfish and brutal cause, dragged me hither, and who now, j 
for some unknown purpose of his own, strives to exag-3 
gerate the wretched fate to which he exposed me.” 

“Think not,” said the Templar, “that I have so ex-l! 
35 posed thee ; I would have bucklered thee against such dan- I 
ger with my own bosom, as freely as ever I exposed it to 
the shafts which had otherwise reached thy life.” 

“ Had thy purpose been the honorable protection of the 
innocent,” said Rebecca, “ I had thanked thee for thy care ; 


Ivanhoe 


453 

as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often that I tell 
thee life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the price 
which thou wouldst exact for it.” 

“ Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,” said the Tem- 
plar ; “ I have my own cause of grief, and brook not that 
thy reproaches should add to it.” 

“What is thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?” said the 
Jewess; “speak it briefly. If thou hast aught to do save 
to witness the misery thou hast caused, let me know it; 
and then, if so it please you, leave me to myself. The 
step between time and eternity is short but terrible, and I 
have few moments to prepare for it.” 

“ I perceive, Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ that thou 
dost continue to burden me with the charge of distresses 
which most fain would I have prevented.” 

“ Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ I would avoid reproaches ; 
but what is more certain than that I owe my death to thine 
unbridled passion ? ” 

“You err — you err,” said the Templar, hastily, “if 
you impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to 
my purpose or agency. Could I guess the unexpected 
arrival of yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic valor, 
and the praises yielded by fools to the stupid self-tor- 
ments of an ascetic, have raised for the present above 
his own merits, above common sense, above me, and above 
the hundreds of our order who think and feel as men free 
from such silly and fantastic prejudices as are the grounds 
of his opinions and actions ? ” 

“Yet,” said Rebecca, “you sate a judge upon me; in- 
nocent — most innocent — as you knew me to be, you 
concurred in my condemnation; and, if I aright under- 
stood, are yourself to appear in arms to assert my guilt, 
and assure my punishment.” 

“ Thy patience, maiden,” replied the Templar. “ No 
race knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to 
the time, and so to trim their bark as to make advantage 
even of an adverse wind.” 

“ Lamented be the hour,” said Rebecca, “ that has 
taught such art to the House of Israel ! but adversity 


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bends the heart as fire bends the stubborn steel, and those 
who are no longer their own governors, and the denizens 
of their own free independent state, must crouch before 
strangers. It is our curse, Sir Knight, deserved, doubt- 
5 less, by our own misdeeds and those of our fathers; but 
you — you who boast your freedom as your birthright, 
how much deeper is your disgrace when you stoop to 
soothe the prejudices of others, and that against your 
own conviction ? ” 

10 “ Your words are bitter, Rebecca/’ said Bois-Guilbert, 

pacing the apartment with impatience, “ but I came not 
hither to bandy reproaches with you. Know that Bois- 
Guilbert yields not to created man, although circum- 
stances may for a time induce him to alter his plan. His 
15 will is the mountain stream, which may indeed be turned 
for a little space aside by the rock, but fails not to find 
its course to the ocean. That scroll which warned thee 
to demand a champion, from whom couldst thou think it 
came, if not from Bois-Guilbert? In whom else couldst 
20 thou have excited such interest ? ” 

“ A brief respite from instant death,” said Rebecca, 
“which will little avail me. Was this all thou couldst do 
for one on whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and 
whom thou hast brought near even to the verge of the 
25 tomb ? ” 

“ No, maiden,” said Bois-Guilberf, “ this was not all 
that I purposed. Had it not been for the accursed in- 
terference of yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodal- 
ricke, who, being a Templar, affects to think and judge 
30 according to the ordinary rules of humanity, the office of 
the champion defender had devolved, not on a preceptor, 
but on a companion of the order. Then I myself — such 
was my purpose — had, on the sounding of the trumpet, 
appeared in the lists as thy champion, disguised indeed in 
35 the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks adventures to 
prove his shield and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir 
have chosen not one but two or three of the brethren 
here assembled, I had not doubted to cast them out of 
the saddle with my single lance. Thus, Rebecca, should 


Ivanhoe 455 

thine innocence have been avouched, and to thine own 
gratitude would I have trusted for the reward of my vic- 
tory.” 

“ This, Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ is but idle boast- 
ing — a brag of what you would have done had you not 
found it convenient to do otherwise. You received my 
glove, and my champion, if a creature so desolate can 
find one, must encounter your lance in the lists; yet you 
would assume the air of my friend and protector ! ” 

“ Thy friend and protector,” said the Templar, gravely, 
“ I will yet be ; but mark at what risk, or rather at what 
certainty, of dishonor; and then blame me not if I make 
my stipulations before I offer up all that I have hitherto 
held dear, to save the life of a Jewish maiden.” 

“ Speak,” said Rebecca; “I understand thee not.” 

“ Well, then,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ I will speak as 
freely as ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, 
when placed in the tricky confessional. Rebecca, if I ap- 
pear not in these lists I lose fame and rank — lose that 
which is the breath of my nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in 
which I am held by my brethren, and the hopes I have 
of succeeding to that mighty authority which is no\y 
wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas de Beaumanoir, but 
of which I should make a far different use. Such is my 
certain doom, except I appear in arms against thy cause. 
Accursed be he of Goodalricke, who baited this trap for 
me ! and doubly accursed Albert de Malvoisin, who with- 
held me from the resolution I had formed of hurling back 
the glove at the face of the superstitious and superan- 
nuated fool who listened to a charge so absurd, and 
against a creature so high in mind and so Jovely in form 
as thou art ! ” 

“ And what now avails rant or flattery ? ” answered 
Rebecca. “ Thou hast made thy choice between causing 
to be shed the blood of an innocent woman, or of endan- 
gering thine own earthly state and earthly hopes. What 
avails it to reckon together? thy choice is made.” 

“ No, Rebecca,” said the knight, in a softer tone, and 
drawing nearer towards her, “ my choice is not made ; 


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Ivanhoe 


456 

nay, mark, it is thine to make the election. If I appear 
in the lists, I must maintain my name in arms; and if I 
do so, championed or unchampioned, thou diest by the 
stake and fagot, for there lives not the knight who hath 
5 coped with me in arms on equal issue or on terms of 
vantage, save Richard Cceur-de-Lion and his minion of 
Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unable to 
bear his corselet, and Richard is in a foreign prison. If 
I appear, then thou diest, even although thy charms 
10 should instigate some hot-headed youth to enter the lists 
in thy defense.” 

“ And what avails repeating this so often ? ” said Re- 
becca. 

“Much,” replied the Templar; “ for thou must learn to 
15 look at thy fate on every side.” 

“ Well, then, turn the tapestry,” said the Jewess, “ and 
let me see the other side.” 

“If I appear,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ in the fatal lists, 
thou diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as they 
20 say is destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I appear 
not, then am I a degraded and dishonored knight, accused 
of witchcraft and of communion with infidels: the illus- 
trious name which has grown yet more so under my 
wearing becomes a hissing and a reproach. I lose fame 
25 — I lose honor — I lose the prospect of such greatness as 
scarce emperors attain to ; I sacrifice mighty ambition — 
I destroy schemes built as high as the mountains with 
which heathens say their heaven was once nearly scaled; 
and yet, Rebecca,” he added, throwing himself at her feet, 
30 “ this greatness will I sacrifice — this fame will I re- 
nounce — this power will I forego, even now when it is 
half within my grasp, if thou wilt say, 4 Bois-Guilbert, I 
receive thee for my lover.’ ” 

“ Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight,” answered 
35 Rebecca, “ but hasten to the Regent, the Queen Mother, 
and to Prince John; they cannot, in honor to the English 
crown, allow of the proceedings of your Grand Master. 
So shall you give me protection without sacrifice on your 
part, or the pretext of requiring any requital from me.” 


Ivanhoe 


457 

“ With these I deal not,” he continued, holding the 
train of her robe — “ it is thee only I address ; and what 
can counterbalance thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a 
fiend, yet death is a worse, and it is death who is my 
rival.” 

“ I weigh not these evils,” said Rebecca, afraid to pro- 
voke the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to 
endure his passion nor even feign to endure it. “ Be a 
man, be a Christian ! If indeed thy faith recommends 
that mercy which rather your tongues than your actions 
pretend, save me from this dreadful death, without seek- 
ing a requital which would change thy magnanimity into 
base barter.” 

“ No, damsel ! ” said the proud Templar, springing up, 
“ thou shalt not thus impose on me: if I renounce pres- 
ent fame and future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, 
and we will escape in company. Listen to me, Rebecca,” 
he said, again softening his tone ; “ England — Europe — 
is not the world. There are spheres in which we may 
act, ample enough even for my ambition! We will go to 
Palestine,, where Conrade Marquis of Montserrat is my 
friend — a friend free as myself from the doting scruples 
which fetter our free-born reason : rather with Saladin 
will we league ourselves than endure the scorn of the 
bigots whom we condemn. I will form new paths to 
greatness,” he continued, again traversing the room with 
hasty strides ; “ Europe shall hear the loud step of him 
she has driven from her sons ! Not the millions whom 
her crusaders send to slaughter can do so much to de- 
fend Palestine; not the sabers of the thousands and ten 
thousands of Saracens can hew their way so deep into 
that land for which nations are striving, as the strength 
and policy of me and those brethren who, in despite of 
yonder old bigot, will adhere to me in good and evil. 
Thou shalt be a queen, Rebecca: on Mount Carmel shall 
we pitch the throne which my valor will gain for you, and 
I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a scepter ! ” 

“ A dream,” said Rebecca — “ an empty vision of the 
night, which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. 


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Ivanhoe 


458 

Enough, that the power which thou mightest acquire I 
will never share; nor hold I so light of country or re- 
ligious faith as to esteem him who is willing to barter 
these ties, and cast away the bonds of the order of which 
5 he is a sworn member, in order to gratify an unruly pas- 
sion for the daughter of another people. Put not a price 
on my deliverance, Sir Knight — sell not a deed of gen- 
erosity — protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, 
and not for a selfish advantage. Go to the throne of Eng- 
10 land; Richard will listen to my appeal from these cruel 
men.” 

“ Never, Rebecca ! ” said the Templar, fiercely. “ If I 
renounce my order, for thee alone will I renounce it. 
Ambition shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love ; I will 
15 not be fooled on all hands. Stoop my crest to Richard? 
— ask a boon of that heart of pride? Never, Rebecca, 
will I place the order of the Temple at his feet in my 
person. I may forsake the order; I never will degrade or 
betray it.” 

20 “ Now God be gracious to me,” said Rebecca, “ for the 

succor of man is well-nigh hopeless ! ” 

“It is indeed,” said the Templar ; “ for, proud as thou 
art, thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter the 
lists with my spear in rest, think not any human considera- 
25 tion shall prevent my putting forth my strength; and 
think then upon thine, own fate — to die the dreadful 
death of the worst of criminals — to be consumed upon a 
blazing pile — dispersed to the elements of which our 
strange forms are so mystically composed — not a relic 
30 left of that graceful frame, from which we could say this 
lived and moved ! Rebecca, it is not in woman to sus- 
tain this prospect thou wilt yield to my suit.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered the Jewess, “ thou knowest 
not the heart of woman, or hast only conversed with 
35 those who are lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, proud 
Templar, that not in thy fiercest battles hast thou dis- 
played more of thy vaunted courage than has been shown 
by woman when called upon to suffer by affection or 
duty. I am myself a woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally 


Ivanhoe 


459 

fearful of danger, and impatient of pain; yet, when we 
enter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer, I feel 
the strong assurance within me that my courage shall 
mount higher than thine. Farewell. I waste no more 
words on thee; the time that remains on earth to the 
daughter of Jacob must be otherwise spent: she must 
seek the Comforter, who may hide His face from His 
people, but who ever opens His ear to the cry of those 
who seek Him in sincerity and in truth.” 

“ We part then thus?” said the Templar, after a short 
pause ; “ would to Heaven that we had never met, or that 
thou hadst been noble in birth and Christian in faith ! 
Nay, by Heaven ! when I gaze on thee, and think when 
and how we are next to meet, I could even wish myself 
one of thine own degraded nation; my hand conversant 
with ingots and shekels, instead of spear and shield; my 
head bent down before each petty noble, and my look only 
terrible to the shivering and bankrupt debtor — this could 
I wish, Rebecca, to be near to thee in life, and to escape 
the fearful share I must have in thy death.” 

“ Thou hast spoken the Jew,” said Rebecca, “ as the 
persecution of such as thou art has made him. Heaven 
in ire has driven him from his country, but industry has 
opened to him the only road to power and to influence 
which oppression has left unbarred. Read the ancient 
history of the people of God, and tell me if those by 
whom Jehovah wrought such marvels among the nations 
were then a people of misers and of usurers ! And know, 
proud knight, we number names amongst us to which 
your boasted northern nobility is as the gourd compared 
with the cedar — names that ascend far back to those 
high times when the Divine Presence shook the mercy- 
seat between the cherubim, and which derive their splen- 
dor from no earthly prince, but from the awful Voice 
which bade their fathers be nearest of the congregation 
to the Vision. Such were the princes of the House of 
Jacob.” 

Rebecca’s color rose as she boasted the ancient glories 
of her race, but faded as she added, with a sigh, “ Such 


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Ivanhoe 


460 

were the princes of Judah, now such no more ! They 
are trampled down like the shorn grass, and mixed with 
the mire of the ways. Yet are there those among them 
who shame not such high descent, and of such shall be 
5 the daughter of Isaac the son of Adonikam ! Farewell ! 
I envy not thy blood- won honors; I envy not thy barba- 
rous descent from Northern heathens ; I envy thee not thy 
faith, which is ever in thy mouth but never in thy heart 
nor in thy practice.” 

10 “ There is a spell on me, by Heaven ! ” said Bois-Guil- 

bert. “ I almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, 
and that the reluctance with which I part from thee hath 
something in it more than is natural. Fair creature ! ” 
he said, approaching near her, but with great respect, 
15 “ so young, so beautiful, so fearless of death ! and yet 
doomed to die, and with infamy and agony. Who would 
not weep for thee? The tear, that has been a stranger 
to these eyelids for twenty years, moistens them as I gaze 
on thee. But it must be — nothing may now save thy 
20 life. Thou and I are but the blind instruments of some 
irresistible fatality, that hurries us along, like goodly ves- 
sels driving before the storm, which are dashed against 
each other, and so perish. Forgive me, then, and let us 
part at least as friends part. I have assailed thy resolu- 
25 tion in vain, and mine own is fixed as the adamantine de- 
crees of fate.” 

“ Thus,” said Rebecca, “ do men throw on fate the 
issue of their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, 
Bois-Guilbert, though the author of my early death. 
30 There are noble things which cross over thy powerful 
mind ; but it is the garden of the sluggard, and the weeds 
have rushed up, and conspired to choke the fair and 
wholesome blossom.” 

“ Yes,” said the Templar, “ I am, Rebecca, as thou hast 
35 spoken me, untaught, untamed; and proud that, amidst a 
shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained 
the preeminent fortitude that places me above them. I 
have been a child of battle from my youth upward, high 
in my views, steady and inflexible in pursuing them. 


Ivanhoe 


461 

Such must I remain — proud, inflexible, and unchanging; 
and of this the world shall have proof. But thou for- 
givest me, Rebecca ? ” 

“ As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.” 

“ Farewell, then,” said the Templar, and left the apart- 5 
ment. 

The preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent 
chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Thou hast tarried long,” he said ; “ I have been as if 
stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. What if 10 
the Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had come hither? 

I had paid dear for my complaisance. But what ails thee, 
brother? Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night. 
Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert?” 

“ Aye,” answered the Templar, “ as well as the wretch 15 
who is doomed to die within an hour. Nay, by the rood, 
not half so well ; for there be those in such state who can 
lay down life like a cast-off garment. By Heaven, Mal- 
voisin, yonder girl hath well-nigh unmanned me. I am 
half resolved to go to the Grand Master, abjure the order 20 
to his very teeth, and refuse to act the brutality which 
his tyranny has imposed on me.” 

“ Thou art mad,” answered Malvoisin ; “ thou mayst 
thus indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find 
a chance thereby to save the life of this Jewess, which 25 
seems so precious in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name 
another of the order to defend his judgment in thy place, 
and the accused will as assuredly perish as if thou hadst 
taken the duty imposed on thee.” 

“ ’Tis false; I will myself take arms in her behalf,” an- 33 
swered the Templar, haughtily; “and should I do so, I 
think, Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the order 
who will keep his saddle before the point of my lance.” 

“ Aye, but thou forgettest,” said the wily adviser, “ thou 
wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this 35 
mad project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou 
hast renounced thy vow of obedience, and see how long 
the despotic old man will leave thee in personal freedom. 
The words shall scarce have left thy lips, ere thou wilt 


Ivanhoe 


462 

either be an hundred feet under ground, in the dungeon 
of the preceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight; or, 
if his opinion holds concerning thy possession, thou wilt 
be enjoying straw, darkness, and chains in some distant 
5 convent cell, stunned with exorcisms, and drenched with 
holy water, to expel the foul fiend which hath obtained 
dominion over thee. Thou must to the lists, Brian, or 
thou art a lost and dishonored man.” 

“ I will break forth and fly,” said Bois-Guilbert — “ fly 
10 to some distant land, to which folly and fanaticism have 
not yet found their way. No drop of the blood of this 
most excellent creature shall be spilled by my sanction.” 

“ Thou canst not fly,” said the preceptor : “ thy ravings 
have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted 
15 to leave the preceptory. Go and make the essay: present 
thyself before the gate, and command the bridge to be 
lowered, and mark what answer thou shalt receive. Thou 
art surprised and offended; but is it not the better for 
thee? Wert thou to fly, what would ensue but the re- 
20 versal of thy arms, the dishonor of thine ancestry, the 
degradation of thy rank ? Think on it. Where shall 
thine old companions in arms hide their heads when Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, the best lance of the Templars, is pro- 
claimed recreant, amid the hisses of the assembled peo - 7 
25 pie? What grief will be at the Court of France! With 
what joy will the haughty Richard hear the news, that 
the knight that set him hard in Palestine, and well-nigh 
darkened his renown, has lost fame and honor for a Jew- 
ish girl, whom he could not even save by so costly a sac- 
30 rifice ! ” 

“ Malvoisin,” said the Knight, “ I thank thee — thou 
hast touched the string at which my heart most readily 
thrills ! Come of it what may, recreant shall never be 
added to the name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, Rich- 
35 ard, or any of his vaunting minions of England, would 
appear in these lists ! But they will be empty — no one 
will risk to break a lance for the innocent, the forlorn.” 

“ The better for thee, if it prove so,” said the preceptor ; 
“ if no champion appears, it is not by thy means that this 


Ivanhoe 


463 

unlucky damsel shall die, but by the doom of the Grand 
Master, with whom rests all the blame, and who will count 
that blame for praise and commendation.” 

“True,” said Bois-Guilbert ; “if no champion appears, 

I am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horse- 5 
back in the lists, but having no part in what is to follow.” 

“ None whatever,” said Malvoisin — “ no more than the 
armed image of St. George when it makes part of a pro- 
cession.” 

“ Well, I will resume my resolution,” replied the 10 
haughty Templar. “She has despised me — repulsed me 
— reviled me ; and wherefore should I offer up for her 
whatever of estimation I have in the opinion of others? 
Malvoisin, I will appear in the lists.” 

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, 15 
and the preceptor followed, to watch and confirm him in 
his resolution; for in Bois-Guilbert’s fame he had himself 
a strong interest, expecting much advantage from his 
being one day at the head of the order, not to mention the 
preferment of which Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, 20 
on condition he would forward the condemnation of the 
unfortunate Rebecca. Yet although, in combating his 
friend’s better feelings, he possessed all the advantage 
which a wily, composed, selfish disposition has over a 
man agitated by strong and contending passions, it re- 25 
quired all Malvoisin’s art to keep Bois-Guilbert steady to 
the purpose he had prevailed on him to adopt. He was 
obliged to watch him closely to prevent his resuming his 
purpose of flight, to intercept his communication with the 
Grand Master, lest he should come to an open rupture 30 
with his superior, and to renew, from time to time, the 
various arguments by which he endeavored to show that, 
in appearing as champion on this occasion, Bois-Guilbert, 
without either accelerating or insuring the fate of Re- 
becca, would follow the only course by which he could £5 
save himself from degradation and disgrace. 


CHAPTER XL 

Shadows avaunt ! — Richard’s himself again. 

Richard III. 

When the Black Knight — for it becomes necessary to 
resume the train of his adventures — left the trysting-tree 
of the generous outlaw, he held his way straight to a 
neighboring religious house, of small extent and revenue, 
5 called the priory of St. Botolph, to which the wounded 
Ivanhoe had been removed when the castle was taken, 
under the guidance of the faithful Gurth and the magnan- 
imous Wamba. It is unnecessary at present to mention 
what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and his 
10 deliverer; suffice it to say that, after long and grave com- 
munication, messengers were dispatched by the prior in 
several directions, and that on the succeeding morning 
the Black Knight was about to set forth on his journey, 
accompanied by the jester, Wamba, who attended as his 
15 guide. 

“ We will meet,” he said to Ivanhoe, “ at Coningsburgh, 
the castle of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy 
father Cedric holds the funeral feast for his noble rela- 
tion. I would see your Saxon kindred together, Sir Wil- 
20 fred, and become better acquainted with them than here- 
tofore. Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall be my task 
to reconcile thee to thy father.” 

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, 
who expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his de- 
?5 liverer. But the Black Knight would not listen to the 
proposal. 

“ Rest this day ; thou wilt have scarce strength enough 
to travel on the next. I will have no guide with me but 
464 


Ivanhoe 465 

honest Wamba, who can play priest or fool ae I shall be 
most in the humor.” 

“ And I,” said Wamba, “ will attend you with all my 
heart. I would fain see the feasting at the funeral of 
Athelstane ; for, if it be not full and frequent, he will rise 
from the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and cupbearer; and 
that were a sight worth seeing. Always, Sir Knight, I 
will trust your valor with making my excuse to my mas- 
ter Cedric, in case mine own wit should fail.” 

“ And how should my poor valor succeed, Sir Jester, 
when thy light wit halts? resolve me that.” 

“ Wit, Sir Knight,” replied the Jester, “ may do much. 
He is a quick, apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbor’s 
blind side, and knows how to keep the lee-gage when his 
passions are blowing high. But valor is a sturdy fellow, 
that makes all split. He rows against both wind and 
tide, and makes way notwithstanding ; and, therefore, good 
Sir Knight, while I take advantage of the fair weather in 
our noble master’s temper, I will expect you to bestir 
yourself when it grows rough.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure 
so to be distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, “ I fear me you 
have chosen a talkative and a troublesome fool to be your 
guide. But he knows every path and alley in the woods 
as well as e’er a hunter who frequents them; and the 
poor knave, as thou hast partly seen, is as faithful as 
steel.” 

“ Nay,” said the Knight, “ an he have the gift of show- 
ing my road, I shall not grumble with him that he desires 
to make it pleasant. Fare thee well, kind Wilfred; I 
charge thqe not to attempt to travel till to-morrow at 
earliest.” 

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who 
pressed it to his lips, took leave of the prior, mounted his 
horse, and departed, with Wamba for his companion. 
Ivanhoe followed them with his eyes until they were lost 
in the shades of the surrounding forest, and then returned 
into the convent. 

But shortly after the matin-song he requested to see the 


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466 

prior. The old man came in haste, and inquired anxiously 
after the state of his health. 

“ It is better/’ he said, “ than my fondest hope could 
have anticipated ; either my wound has been slighter than 
5 the effusion of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam 
hath wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel already 
as if I could bear my corselet ; and so much the better, for 
thoughts pass in my mind which render me unwilling to 
remain here longer in inactivity.” 

10 “ Now, the saints forbid,” said the prior, “ that the son 

of the Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his 
wounds were healed ! It were shame to our profession 
were we to suffer it.” 

“ Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, ven- 
15 erable father,” said Ivanhoe, “ did I not feel myself able 
to endure the journey, and compelled to undertake it.” 

“ And what can have urged you to so sudden a depar- 
ture ? ” said the prior. 

“ Have you never, holy father,” answered the knight, 
20 “ felt an apprehension of approaching evil, for which 
you in vain attempted to assign a cause? Have you 
never found your mind darkened, like the sunny land- 
scape, by the sudden cloud, which augurs a coming tem- 
pest? And thinkest thou not that such impulses are de- 
25 serving of attention, as being the hints of our guardian 
spirits that danger is impending?” 

“ I may not deny,” said the prior, crossing himself, 
“ that such things have been, and have been of Heaven ; 
but then such communications have had a visibly useful 
30 scope and tendency. But thou, wounded as thou art, 
what avails it thou shouldst follow the steps oh him whom 
thou couldst not aid, were he to be assaulted ? ” 

“ Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “ thou dost mistake — I am stout 
enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge 
35 me to such a traffic. But were it otherwise, may I not 
aid him, were he in danger, by other means than by force 
of arms? It is but too well known that the Saxons love 
not the Norman race, and who knows what may be the 
issue if he break in upon them when their hearts are irri- 


Ivanhoe 


467 

tated by the death of Athelstane, and their heads heated 
by the carousal in which they will indulge themselves? 
I hold his entrance among them at such a moment most 
perilous, and I am resolved to share or avert the danger ; 
which, that I may the better do, I would crave of thee 
the use of some palfrey whose pace may be softer than 
that of my destrier” 

“ Surely,” said the worthy churchman ; “ you shall have 
mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy 
! for your sake as that of the abbot of St. Alban’s. Yet 
this will I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless 
you were to borrow a ride on the juggler’s steed that 
paces a hornpipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a 
journey on a creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I 
have composed many a homily on her back, to the edifica- 
tion of my brethren of the convent and many poor Chris- 
tian souls.” 

“ I pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, “ let Mal- 
1 kin be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with 
mine arms.” 

“ Nay but, fair sir,” said the prior, “ I pray you to re- 
member that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her 
master, and that I warrant not her enduring the sight or 
weight of your full panoply. Oh, Malkin, I promise you, 
| is a beast of judgment, and will contend against any un- 
j due weight. I did but borrow the Fructus Temporum 
from the priest of St. Bee’s, and I promise you she would 
not stir from the gate until I had exchanged the huge vol- 
ume for my little breviary.” 

“ Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “ I will not dis- 
tress her with too much weight; and if she calls a combat 
with me, it is odds but she has the worst.” 

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the 
knight’s heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of con- 
vincing any restive horse that his best safety lay in being 
conformable to the will of his rider. 

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels 
were now armed began to make the worthy prior repent 
of his courtesy, and ejaculate, “Nay but, fair sir, now I 


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468 

bethink me, my Malkin abideth not the spur. Better it 
were that you tarry for the mare of our manciple down 
at the grange, which may be had in little more than an 
hour, and cannot but be tractable, in respect that she 
5 draweth much of our winter firewood, and eateth no 
corn.” 

“ I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your 
first offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the 
gate. Gurth shall carry mine armor; and for the rest, 
10 rely on it that, as I will not overload Malkin’s back, she 
shall not overcome my patience. And now, farewell ! ” 

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and 
easily than his wound promised, and threw himself upon 
the jennet, eager to escape the importunity of the prior, 
15 who stuck as closely to his side as his age and fatness 
would permit, now singing the praises of Malkin, now 
recommending caution to the knight in managing her. 

“ She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as 
well as mares,” said the old man, laughing at his own jest, 
20 “ being barely in her fifteenth year.” 

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand 
canvassing a palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a 
deaf ear to the prior’s grave advices and facetious jests, 
and having leaped on his mare, and commanded his squire 
25 (for such Gurth now called himself) to keep close by his 
side, he followed the track of the Black Knight into the 
forest, while the prior stood at the gate of the convent 
looking after him, and ejaculating, “ St. Mary ! how 
prompt and fiery be these men of war ! I would I had 
SO not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled as I am 
with the cold rheum, I am undone if aught but good be-; 
falls her. And yet,” said he, recollecting himself, “ as I 
would not spare my own old and disabled limbs in the 
good cause of Old England, so Malkin must e’en run her 
35 hazard on the same venture; and it may be they will 
think our poor house worthy of some munificent guerdon ; 
or, it may be, they will send the old prior a pacing nag. 
And if they do none of these, as great men will forget 
little men’s service, truly I shall hold me well repaid in 


Ivanhoe 


469 

having done that which is right And it is now well-nigh 
the fitting time to summon the brethren to breakfast in 
the refectory. Ah ! I doubt they obey that call more 
cheerily than the bells for primes and matins.” 

So the prior of St. Botolph’s hobbled back again into 
the refectory, to preside over the stock-fish and ale which 
were just serving out for the friars’ breakfast. Pursy 
and important, he sat him down at the table, and many 
a dark word he threw out of benefits to be expected to 
the convent, and high deeds of service done by himself, 
which at another season would have attracted observa- 
tion. But as the stock-fish was highly salted, and the ale 
reasonably powerful, the jaws of the brethren were too 
anxiously employed to admit of their making much use 
of their ears; nor do we read of any of the fraternity 
who was tempted to speculate upon the mysterious hints 
of their superior, except Father Diggory, who was se- 
verely afflicted by the toothache, so that he could only eat 
on one side of his jaws. 

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide 
were pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the 
forest ; the good Knight whiles humming to himself the 
lay of some enamored troubadour, sometimes encouraging 
by questions the prating disposition of his attendant, so 
that their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song 
and jest, of which we would fain give our readers some 
idea. You are then to imagine this Knight, such as we 
have already described him, strong of person, tall, broad- 
shouldered, and large of bone, mounted on his mighty 
black charger, which seemed made on purpose to bear 
his weight, so easily he paced forward under it, having 
the visor of his helmet raised, in order to admit freedom 
of breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under part, closed, 
so that his features could be but imperfectly distinguished. 
But his ruddy, embrowned cheek-bones could be plainly 
seen, and the large and bright blue eyes, that flashed 
from under the dark shade of the raised visor; and the 
whole gesture and look of the champion expressed care- 


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470 

less gayety and fearless confidence — a mind which was 
unapt to apprehend danger, and prompt to defy it when 
most imminent, yet with whom danger was a familiar 
thought, as with one whose trade was war and adventure. 
5 The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late acci- 
dents had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, in- 
stead of his wooden sword, with a targe to match it; of 
both which weapons he had, notwithstanding his profes- 
sion, shown himself a skillful master during the storming 
10 of Torquilstone. Indeed, the infirmity of Wamba’s brain 
consisted chiefly in a kind of impatient irritability, which 
suffered him not long to remain quiet in any posture, or 
adhere to any certain train of ideas, although he was 
for a few minutes alert enough in performing any im- 
15 mediate task, or in apprehending any immediate topic. 
On horseback, therefore, he was perpetually swinging 
himself backwards and forwards, now on the horse’s 
ears, then anon on the very rump of the animal; now 
hanging both his legs on one side, and now sitting with 
20 his face to the tail, moping, mowing, and making a thou- 
sand apish gestures, until his palfrey took his freaks so 
much to heart as fairly to lay him at his length on the 
green grass — an incident which greatly amused the 
Knight, but compelled his companion to ride more steadily 
25 thereafter. 

At the point of their journey at which we take them 
up, this joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai, as 
it was called, in which the clown bore a mellow burden 
to the better-instructed Knight of the Fetterlock. And 
30 thus run the ditty : — 

Anna Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna Marie, love, morn is begun, 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna Marie. 

35 Anna Marie, love, up in the morn, 

The hunter is winding blythe sounds on his horn, 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna Marie. 


Ivanhoe 47 1 

Wamba. 

0 Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, 

Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit, 

For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 
Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love? 

Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, 

Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill, 

Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, — 

But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

“ A dainty song,” said Wamba, when they had finished 
their carol, “ and I swear by my bauble, a pretty moral ! 
I used to sing it with Gurth, once my playfellow, and 
now, by the grace of God and his master, no less than a 
freeman; and we once came by the cudgel for being so 
entranced by the melody that we lay in bed two hours 
after sunrise, singing the ditty betwixt sleeping and 
waking: my bones ache at thinking of the- tune ever since. 
Nevertheless., I have played the part of Anna Marie to 
please you, fair sir.” 

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of 
comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, 
replied in the like manner. 

Knight and Wamba. 

There came three merry men from south, west, and north, 
Ever more sing the roundelay; 

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth, 

And where was the widow might say them nay? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came, 

Ever more sing the roundelay; 

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame, 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father, the laird, of his uncle the squire, 

He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire, 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 


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47 2 


Ivanhoe 

Wamba. 


The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails. 
Merrily sing the roundelay; 

Hur’s a gentleman, God wot, and hur’s lineage was of Wales, 
5 And where was the widow might say him nay? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 

And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

ft 

10 But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jollily singing his roundelay; 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent, 

And where was the widow could say him nay? 

Both. 

15 So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 
There for to sing their roundelay; 

For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 

“ I would, Wamba,” said the Knight, “ that our host of 
20 the trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard 
this thy ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.” 

“ So would not I,” said Wamba, “ but for the horn that 
hangs at your baldric.” 

“ Aye,” said the Knight, “ this is a pledge of Locksley’s 
25 good-will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots 
on this bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our 
need, a jolly band of yonder honest yeomen.” 

“ I would say, Heaven forefend,” said the Jester, “ were 
it not that that fair gift is a pledge they would let us 
30 pass peaceably.” 

“ Why, what meanest thou ? ” said the Knight ; “ think- 
est thou that but for this pledge of fellowship they would 
assault us ? ” 

“ Nay, for me I say nothing,” said Wamba; “ for green 
35 trees have ears as well as stone yvalls. But canst thou 


Ivanhoe 


473 

construe me this, Sir Knight? When is thy wine-pitcher 
and thy purse better empty than full ? ” 

“ Why, never, I think/’ replied the Knight. 

“ Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, 
for so simple an answer ! Thou hadst best empty thy 
pitcher ere thou pass it to a Saxon, and leave thy money 
at home ere thou walk in the greenwood.” 

“You hold our friends for robbers, then?” said the 
Knight of the Fetterlock. 

“ You hear me not say so, fair sir,” said Wamba. “ It 
may relieve a man’s steed to take off his mail when he 
hath a long journey to make; and, certes, it may do good 
to the rider’s soul to ease him of that which is the root 
of evil; therefore will I give no hard names to those 
who do such services. Only I would wish my mail at 
home, and my purse in my chamber, when I meet with 
these good fellows, because it might save them some 
trouble.” 

“We are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwith- 
standing the fair character thou dost afford them.” 

“ Pray for them with all my heart,” said Wamba; “but 
in the town, not in the greenwood, like the abbot of St. 
Bee’s, whom they caused to say mass with an old hollow 
oak-tree for his stall.” 

“ Say as thou list, Wamba,” replied the Knight, “ these 
yeomen did thy master Cedric yeomanly service at Tor- 
quilstone.” 

“ Aye, truly,” answered Wamba ; “ but that was in the 
fashion of their trade with Heaven.” 

“Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that?” re- 
plied his companion. 

“ Marry, thus,” said the Jester. “ They make up a bal- 
anced account with Heaven, as our old cellarer used to 
call his ciphering, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with 
his debtors, and, like him, give out a very little, and take 
large credit for doing so; reckoning, doubtless, on their 
own behalf the sevenfold usury which the blessed text 
hath promised to charitable loans.” 

“Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba; I 


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474 Ivanhoe 

know nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,” answered the 
Knight. 

“ Why,” said Wamba, “ an your valor be so dull, you 
will please to learn that those honest fellows balance a 
5 good deed with one not quite so laudable, as a crown 
given to a begging friar with an hundred byzants taken 
from a fat abbot, or a wench kissed in the greenwood 
with the relief of a poor widow.” 

“ Which of these was the good deed, which was the 
10 felony ? ” interrupted the Knight. 

“A good gibe! a good gibe ! said Wamba; “keeping 
witty company sharpeneth the apprehension. You said 
nothing so well, Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when you 
held drunken vespers with the bluff hermit. But to go 
15 on. — The merry men of the forest set off the building of 
a cottage with the burning of a castle, the thatching of a 
choir against the robbing of a church, the setting free 
a poor prisoner against the murder of a proud sheriff, or, 
to come nearer to our point, the deliverance of a Saxon 
20 franklin against the burning alive of a Norman baron. 
Gentle thieves they are, in short, and courteous robbers; 
but it is ever the luckiest to meet with them when they are 
at the worst. 

“How so, Wamba?” said the Knight. 

25 “ Why, then they have some compunction, and are for 

making up matters with Heaven. But when they have 
struck an -even balance, Heaven help them with whom 
they next open the account ! The travelers who first met 
them after their good service at Torquilstone would have 
30 a woeful flaying. And yet,” said Wamba, coming close 
up to the Knight’s side, “ there be companions who are 
far more dangerous for travelers to meet than yonder 
outlaws.” 

“ And who may they be, for you have neither bears 
35 nor wolves, I trow ? ” said the Knight. 

“ Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin’s men-at-arms,” 
said Wamba; “and let me tell you that, in time of civil 
war, a halfscore of these is worth a band of wolves at 
any time. They are now expecting their harvest, and 


Ivanhoe 


475 

are reenforced with the soldiers that escaped from Tor- 
quilstone; so that, should we meet with a band of them, 
we are like to pay for our feats of arms. Now, I pray 
you. Sir Knight, what would you do if we met two of 
them ? ” 

“ Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, 
if they offered us any impediment.” 

“But what if there were four of them?” 

“ They should drink of the same cup,” answered the 
Knight. 

“ What if six,” continued Wamba, “ and we as we now 
are, barely two ; would you not remember Locksley’s 
horn ? ” 

“ What ! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, “ against 
a score of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight 
could drive before him, as the wind drives the withered 
leaves ? ” 

“ Nay, then,” said Wamba, “ I will pray you for a close 
sight of that same horn that hath so 'powerful a breath.” 

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged 
his fellow-traveler, who immediately hung the bugle 
round his own neck. 

“ Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes; “nay, I 
know my gamut as well as another.” 

“ How mean you, knave ? ” said the Knight ; “ restore 
me the bugle.” 

“ Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When 
valor and folly travel, folly should bear the horn, because 
she can blow the best.” 

“ Nay but, rogue,” said the Black Knight, “ this ex- 
ceeded! thy license. Beware ye tamper not with my 
patience.” 

“ Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight,” said the 
Jester, keeping at a distance from the impatient cham- 
pion, “ or folly will show a clean pair of heels, and leave 
valor to find out his way through the wood as best he 
may.” 

“Nay, thou hast hit me there,” said the Knight; “and, 
sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with thee. 


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476 Ivanhoe 

Keep the horn an thou wilt, but let us proceed on our 
journey.” 

“ You will not harm me, then? ” said Wamba. 

“ I tell thee no, thou knave ! ” 

5 “ Aye, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” con- 

tinued Wamba, as he approached with great caution. 

“ My knightly word I pledge ; only come on with thy 
foolish self.” 

“ Nay, then, valor and folly are once more boon com- 
10 panions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to the 
Knight’s side ; “ but, in truth, I love not such buffets as 
that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his holiness 
rolled on the green like a king of the nine-pins. And 
now that folly wears the horn, let valor rouse himself 
15 and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, there are com- 
pany in yonder brake that are on the look-out for us.” 

“What makes thee judge so?” said the Knight. 

“ Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of 
a morrion from amongst the green leaves. Had they 
20 been honest men, they had kept the path. But yonder 
thicket is a choice chapel for the clerks of St. Nicholas.” 

“ By my faith,” said the Knight, closing his visor, “ I 
think thou be’st in the right on’t.” 

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows flew 
25 at the same instant from the suspected spot against his 
head and breast, one of which would have penetrated to 
the brain, had it not been turned aside by the steel visor. 
The other two were averted by the gorget, and by the 
shield which hung around his neck. 

30 “ Thanks, trusty armorer,” said the Knight. “ Wamba, 

let us close with them,” and he rode straight to the 
thicket. He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who 
ran against him with their lances at full career. Three 
of the weapons struck against him, and splintered with as 
35 little effect as if they had been driven against a tower 
of steel. The Black Knight’s eyes seemed to flash fire 
even through the aperture of his visor. He raised him- 
self in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity, and 
exclaimed, “ What means this, my masters 1 ” The men 


Ivanhoe 


477 

made no other reply than by drawing their swords and 
attacking him on every side, crying, “ Die, tyrant ! ” 

“ Ha ! St. Edward ! Ha ! St. George ! ” said the Black 
Knight, striking down a man at every invocation ; “ have 
we traitors here ? ” 

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from 
an arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed 
as if the terror of his single strength was about to gain 
the battle against such odds, when a knight, in blue 
armor, who had hitherto kept himself behind the other 
assailants, spurred forward with his lance, and taking 
aim, not at the rider but at the steed, wounded the noble 
animal mortally. 

“ That was a felon stroke ! ” exclaimed the Black 
Knight, as the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider 
along with him. 

And at this moment Wamba winded the bugle, for the 
whole had passed so speedily that he had not time to do 
so sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers bear 
back once more, and Wamba, though so imperfectly weap- 
oned, did not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black 
Knight to rise. 

“ Shame on ye, false cowards ! ” exclaimed he in the 
blue harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, “ do ye 
fly from the empty blast of a horn blown by a jester ?” 

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight 
anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against 
an oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon 
knight, who had taken another spear, watching the mo- 
ment when his formidable antagonist was most closely 
pressed, galloped against him in hopes to nail him with 
his lance against the tree, when his purpose was again 
intercepted by Wamba. The Jester, making up by agility 
the want of strength, and little noticed by the men- 
at-arms, who were busied in their more important object, 
hovered on the skirts of the fight, and effectually checked 
the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by hamstringing his 
horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and man went 
to the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of the 


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Ivanhoe 


478 

Fetterlock continued very precarious, as he was pressed 
close by several men completely armed, and began to be 
fatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defend him- 
self on so many points at nearly the same moment, when 
5 a gray-goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth one 
of the most formidable of his assailants, and a band of 
yeomen broke forth from the glade, headed by Locksley 
and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready and effectual part 
in the fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom 
10 lay on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black 
Knight thanked his deliverers with a dignity they had 
not observed in his former bearing, which hitherto had 
seemed rather that of a blunt, bold soldier than of a per- 
son of exalted rank. 

15 “ It concerns me much/’ he said, “ even before I express 

my full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I 
may, who have been my unprovoked enemies. Open the 
visor of that Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief 
of these villains.” 

20 The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the as- 
sassins, who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under 
the wounded steed, lay incapable either of flight or re- 
sistance. 

“ Come, valiant sir,” said Wamba, “ I must be your ar- 
25 morer as well as your equerry. I have dismounted you, 
and now I will unhelm you.” 

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the hel- 
met of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on 
the grass, displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock griz- 
30 zled locks, and a countenance he did not expect to have 
seen under such circumstances. 

“ Waldemar Fitzurse ! ” he said in astonishment; 
“ what could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to 
so foul an undertaking?” 

35 “ Richard,” said the captive knight, looking up to him, 

“ thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not 
to what ambition and revenge can lead every child of 
Adam.” 


Ivanhoe 


479 

“ Revenge ! ” answered the Black Knight ; “ I never 
wronged thee. On me thou hast naught to revenge.” 

“ My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst 
scorn — was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood is 
noble as thine own ? ” 

“ Thy daughter ! ” replied the Black Knight. “ A 
proper cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody 
issue ! Stand back, my masters, I would speak to him 
alone. And now, Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth: 
confess who set thee on this traitorous deed.” 

“ Thy father’s son,” answered Waldemar, “ who, in so 
doing, did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy 
father.” 

Richard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better 
nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against his 
brow, and remained an instant gazing on the face of the 
humbled baron, in whose features pride was contending 
with shame. 

“Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar?” said the 
King. 

“ He that is in the lion’s clutch,” answered Fitzurse, 
“ knows it were needless.” 

“Take it, then, unasked,” said Richard; “the lion preys 
not on prostrate carcasses. Take thy life, but with this 
condition, that in three days thou shalt leave England, 
and go to hide thine infamy in thy Norman castle, and 
that thou wilt never mention the name of John of Anjou 
as connected with thy felony. If thou art found on 
English ground after the space I have allotted thee, thou 
diest; or if thou breathest aught that can attaint the 
honor of my house, by St. George ! not the altar itself 
shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to feed the 
ravens from the very pinnacle of thine own castle. Let 
this knight have a steed, Locksley, for I see your yeomen 
have caught those which were running loose, and let him 
depart unharmed.” 

“ But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests 
must not be disputed,” answered the yeoman, “ I would 


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Ivanhoe 


480 

send a shaft after the skulking villain that should spare 
him the labor of a long journey.” 

“ Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,” said the 
Black Knight, “ and well dost judge thou art the 
5 more bound to obey my behest: I am Richard of Eng- 
land ! ” 

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited 
to the high rank, and no less distinguished character, of 
Coeur-de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down before 
10 him, and at the same time tendered their allegiance, and 
implored pardon for their offenses. 

•“ Rise, my friends,” said Richard, in a gracious tone, 
looking on them with a countenance in which his habitual 
good-humor had already conquered the blaze of hasty 
15 resentment, and whose features retained no mark of the 
late desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising from 
exertion — “arise,” he said, “my friends! Your mis- 
demeanors, whether in forest or field, have been atoned 
by the loyal services you rendered my distressed subjects 
20 before the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue you have 
this day afforded to your sovereign. Arise, my liege- 
men, and be good subjects in future. And thou, brave 
Locksley — ” 

“ Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me 
25 under the name which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely 
not to have reached even your royal ears: I am Robin 
Hood of Sherwood Forest.” 

“ King of outlaws, and Prince of good fellows ! ” said 
the King, “ who hath not heard a name that has been 
30 borne as far as Palestine? But be assured, brave outlaw, 
that no deed done in our absence, and in the turbulent 
times to which it hath given rise, shall be remembered to 
thy disadvantage.” 

“True says the proverb,” said Wamba, interposing his 
35 word, but with some abatement of his usual petulance — 

“ When the cat is away, 

The mice will play.” 


Ivanhoe 


481 

“What, Wamba, art thou there?” said Richard; “I 
have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou 
hadst taken flight.” 

“ I take flight ! ” said Wamba ; “ when do you ever find 
folly separated from valor? There lies the trophy of 
my sword, that good gray gelding, whom I heartily wish 
upon his legs again, conditioning his master lay there 
houghed in his place. It is true, I gave a little ground at 
first, for a motley jacket does not brook lance-heads as 
a steel doublet will. But if I fought not at sword’s point, 
you will grant me that I sounded the onset.” 

“And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the 
King. “ Thy good service shall not be forgotten.” 

“Confiteor ! confiteor! ” exclaimed, in a submissive tone, 
a voice near the King’s side ; “ my Latin will carry me 
no farther, but I confess my deadly treason, and pray 
leave to have absolution before I am led to execu- 
tion ! ” 

Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on 
his knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which 
had not been idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass 
beside him. His countenance was gathered so as he 
thought might best express the most profound contri- 
tion, his eyes being turned up, and the corners of his 
mouth drawn down, as Wamba expressed it, like the 
tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet this demure affecta- 
tion of extreme penitence was whimsically belied by a 
L licrous meaning which lurked in his huge features, and 
i . ned to pronounce his fear and repentance alike hypo- 
crit - al. 

1 For what art thou cast down, mad priest? ” said Rich- 
ard ; “ art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn how 
truly thou dost serve Our Lady and St. Dunstan? Tush, 
man ! fear it not; Richard of England betrays no secrets 
that pass over the flagon.” 

Nay, most gracious sovereign,” answered the hermit, 
Veil known to the curious in penny histories of Robin 
1 ; >,,d by the name of Friar Tuck, “it is not the crosier 
1 fear, but the scepter. Alas! that my sacrilegious fist 


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482 Ivanhoe 

should ever have been applied to the ear of the Lord’s 
anointed ! ” 

“Ha! ha!” said Richard, “sits the wind there? In 
truth, I had forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung 
5 after it for a whole day. But if the cuff was fairly given, 
I will be judged by the good men around, if it was not 
as well. repaid; or, if thou thinkest I still owe thee aught, 
and will stand forth for another counterbuff — ” 

• “ By no means,” replied Friar Tuck, “ I had mine own 
10 returned, and with usury: may your Majesty ever pay 
your debts as fully ! ” 

“ If I could do so with cuffs,” said the King, “ my cred- 
itors should have little reason to complain of an empty 
exchequer.” 

15 “And yet,” said the Friar, resuming his demure, hypo- 
critical countenance, “ I know not what penance I ought 
to perform for that most sacrilegious blow — ! ” 

“Speak no more of it, brother,” said the King; “after 
having stood so many cuffs from paynims and misbe- 
20 lievers, I were void of reason to quarrel with the buffet 
of a clerk so holy as he of Copmanhurst. Yet, mine 
honest Friar, I think it would be best both for the church 
and thyself that I should procure a license to unfrock 
thee, and retain thee as a yeoman of our guard, serving 
25 in care of our person, as formerly in attendance upon the 
altar of St. Dunstan.” 

“My Liege,” said the Friar, “I humbly crave your 
pardon; and you would readily grant my excuse, did you 
but know how the sin of laziness has beset me. St. 
30 Dunstan — may he be gracious to us ! — stands quiet in 
his niche, though I should forget my orisons in killing a 
fat buck; I stay out of my cell sometimes a night, doing 
I wot not what — St. Dunstan never complains — a quiet 
master he is, and a peaceful, as ever was made of wood. 
35 But to be a yeoman in attendance on my sovereign the 
King — the honor is great, doubtless — yet, if I were but 
to step aside to comfort a widow in one corner, or to 
kill a deer in another, it would be, ‘ Where is the dog 
priest ? f says one. ‘ Who has seen the accursed Tuck ? ’ 


I van hoe 


483 


says another. ‘ The unfrocked villain destroys more ven- 
ison than half the country besides/ says one keeper; 
‘ And is hunting after every shy doe in the country ! ’ 
quoth a second. In fine, good my Liege, I pray you to 
leave me as you found me; or, if in aught you desire to 
extend your benevolence to me, that I may be considered 
as the poor clerk of St. Dunstan’ s cell in Copmanhurst, 
to whom any small donation will be most thankfully ac- 
ceptable/’ 

“ I understand thee,” said the King, “ and the holy 
clerk shall have a grant of vert and venison in my woods 
of Wharncliffe. Mark, however, I will but assign thee 
three bucks every season; but if that do not prove an 
apology for thy slaying thirty, I am no Christian knight 
nor true king.” 

“Your Grace may be well assured,” said the Friar, 
“ that, with the grace of St. Dunstan, I shall find the way 
of multiplying your most bounteous gift.” 

“ I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said the King ; 
“ and as venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have 
orders to deliver to thee a butt of sack, a runlet of Mal- 
voisie, and three hogsheads of ale of the first strike, 
yearly. If that will not quench thy thirst, thou must 
come to court, and become acquainted with my butler.” 

“But for St. Dunstan?” said the Friar — 

“ A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also 
have,” continued the King, crossing himself. “ But we 
may not turn our game into earnest, lest God punish us 
for thinking more on our follies than on His honor and 
worship.” 

[ “ I will answer for my patron,” said the priest, joy- 
ously. 

“Answer for thyself, Friar,” said King Richard, some- 
thing sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand 
to the hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his 
knee, and saluted it. “ Thou dost less honor to my extended 
palm than to my clenched fist,” said the monarch ; “ thou 
didst only kneel to the one, and to the other didst pros- 
trate thyself.” 


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Ivanhoe 


484 

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offense 
by continuing the conversation in too jocose a style — a 
false step to be particularly guarded against by those who 
converse with monarchs — bowed profoundly, and fell 
5 into the rear. 

At the same time, two additional personages appeared 
on the scene. 


CHAPTER XLI 


All hail to the lordlings of high degree, 

Who live not more happy, though greater than we! 

Our pastimes to see, 

Under every green tree, 

In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be. 

Macdonald. 

The new-comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the prior 
of Botolph’s palfrey, and Gurth, who attended him, on the 
knight’s own war-horse. The astonishment of Ivanhoe 
was beyond bounds when he saw his master besprinkled 
with blood, and six or seven dead bodies lying around 
in the little glade in which the battle had taken place. 
Nor was he less surprised to see Richard surrounded 
by so many silvan attendants, the outlaws, as they seemed 
to be, of the forest, and a perilous retinue therefore for 
a prince. He hesitated whether to address the King as 
the Black Knight-errant, or in what other manner to de- 
mean himself towards him. Richard saw his embarrass- 
ment. 

Fear not, Wilfred,” he said, “to address Richard 
Plantagenet as himself, since thou seest him in the com- 
pany of true English hearts, although it may be they 
have been urged a few steps aside by warm English 
blood.” 

“ Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,” said the gallant outlaw, 
stepping forward, “ my assurances can add nothing to 
those of our sovereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly, 
that of men who have suffered much, he hath not truer 
subjects than those who now stand around him.” 

“ I cannot doubt it, brave man,” said Wilfred, “ since 
thou art of the number. But what means these marks of 

485 


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486 Ivanhoe 

death and danger — these slain men, and the bloody 
armor of my Prince ? ” 

“Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe/' said the King; 
“ but, thanks to these brave men, treason hath met its 
5 meed. But, now I bethink me, thou too art a traitor,” 
said Richard, smiling — “a most disobedient traitor; for 
were not our orders positive that thou shouldst repose 
thyself at St. Botolph’ s until thy wound was healed ? ” 

“It is healed,” said Ivanhoe — “it is not of more con- 
10 sequence than the scratch of a bodkin. But why — oh 
why, noble Prince, will you thus vex the hearts of your 
faithful servants, and expose your life by lonely journeys 
and rash adventures, as if it were of no more value than 
that of a mere knight-errant, who has no interest on earth 
15 but what lance and sword may procure him ? ” 

“ And Richard Plantagenet,” said the King, “ desires no 
more fame than his good lance and sword may acquire 
him ; and Richard Plantagenet is prouder of achieving an 
adventure, with only his good sword, and his good arm to 
20 speed, than if he led to battle an host of an hundred thou- 
sand armed men.” 

“ But your kingdom, my Liege,” said Ivanhoe — “ your 
kingdom is threatened with dissolution and civil war ; your 
subjects menaced with every species of evil, if deprived 
25 of their sovereign in some of those dangers which it is 
your daily pleasure to incur, and from which you have 
but this moment narrowly escaped.” 

“ Ho ! ho ! my kingdom and my subjects ! ” answered 
Richard, impatiently ; “ I tell thee, Sir Wilfred, the best 
30 of them are most willing to repay my follies in kind. 
For example, my very faithful servant, Wilfred of Ivan- 
hoe, will not obey my positive commands, and yet reads 
his king a homily, because he does not walk exactly by 
his advice. Which of us has most reason to upbraid 
35 the other? Yet forgive me, my faithful Wilfred. The 
time I have spent, and am yet to spend, in concealment 
is, as I explained to thee at St. Botolph’s, necessary to 
give my friends and faithful nobles time to assemble their 
forces, that, when Richard’s return is announced, he should 


Ivanhoe 


487 

be at the head of such a force as enemies shall tremble to 
face, and thus subdue the meditated treason, without even 
unsheathing a sword. Estoteville and Bohun will not be 
strong enough to move forward to York for twenty- 
four hours. I must have news of Salisbury from the 5 
south, and of Beauchamp in Warwickshire, and of Multon 
and Percy in the north. The Chancellor must make sure 
of London. Too sudden an appearance would subject me 
to dangers other than my lance and sword, though backed 
by the bow of bold Robin, or the quarter-staff of Friar 10 
Tuck, and the horn of the sage Wamba, may be able to 
rescue me from.” 

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain 
it was to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which 
so often impelled his master upon dangers which he 15 
might easily have avoided, or rather, which it was un- 
pardonable in him to have sought out. The young knight 
sighed, therefore, and held his peace ; while Richard, 
rejoiced at having silenced his counselor, though his heart 
acknowledged the justice of the charge he had brought 20 
against him, went on in conversation with Robin Hood. 

“ King of outlaws,” he said, “ have you no refresh- 
ment to offer your brother sovereign? for these dead 
knaves have found me both in exercise and appetite.” 

“ In troth,” replied the outlaw, “ for I scorn to lie to 25 
your Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with — ” He 
stopped, and was somewhat embarrassed. 

“ With venison, I suppose?” said Richard, gayly; “bet- 
ter food at need there can be none; and truly, if a king 
will not remain at home and slay his own game, me- 30 
thinks he should not brawl too loud if he finds it killed 
to his hand.” 

“ If your Grace, then,” said Robin, “ will again honor 
with your presence one of Robin Hood’s places of ren- 
dezvous, the venison shall not be lacking; and a stoup of 35 
ale, and it may be a cup of reasonably good wine, to relish 
it withal.” 

The outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the 
buxom monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance 


Ivanhoe 


488 

meeting with Robin Hood and his foresters than he would 
have been in again assuming his royal state, and pre- 
siding over a splendid circle of peers and nobles. * Novelty 
in society and adventure were the zest of life to Richard 
5 Coeur-de-Lion, and it had its highest relish when en- 
hanced by dangers encountered and surmounted. In the 
lion-hearted king, the brilliant, but useless, character of 
a knight of romance was in a great measure realized 
and revived; and the personal glory which he acquired by 
10 his own deeds of arms was far more dear to his excited 
imagination than that which a course of policy and wis- 
dom would have spread around his government. Accord- 
ingly, his reign was like the course of a brilliant and 
rapid meteor, which shoots along the face of heaven, 
15 shedding around an unnecessary and portentous light, 
which is instantly swallowed up by universal darkness; 
his feats of chivalry furnishing themes for bards and 
minstrels, but affording none of those solid benefits to 
his country on which history loves to pause, and hold 
20 -up as an example to posterity. But in his present com- 
pany Richard showed to the greatest imaginable advan- 
tage. He was gay, good-humored, and fond of manhood 
in every rank of life. 

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily 
25 prepared for the King of England, surrounded by men 
outlaws to his government, but who now formed his 
court and his guard. As the flagon went round, the rough 
foresters soon lost their awe for the presence of Majesty. 
The song and the jest were exchanged, the stories of 
30 former deeds were told with advantage; and at length, 
and while boasting of their successful infraction of the 
laws, no one recollected they wef£ speaking in presence 
of their natural guardian. The merry king, nothing heed- 
. ing his dignity any more than his company, laughed, 
35 quaffed, and jested among the jolly band. The natural 
and rough sense of Robin Hood led him to be desirous 
that the scene should be closed ere anything should 
occur to disturb its harmony, the more especially that 
he observed Ivanhoe’s brow clouded with anxiety. “ We 


Ivanhoe 


489 

are honored/’ he said to Ivanhoe, apart, “ by the presence 
of our gallant sovereign ; yet I would not that he dallied 
with time which the circumstances of his kingdom may 
render precious.” 

“ It is well and wisely spoken, brave Robin Hood,” 
said Wilfred, apart; “and know, moreover, that they 
who jest with Majesty, even in its gayest mood, are but 
toying with the lion’s whelp, which, on slight provoca- 
tion, uses both fangs and claws.” 

“ You have touched the very cause of my fear,” said 
the outlaw. “ My men are rough by practice and na- 
ture; the King is hasty as well as good-humored; nor 
know I how soon cause of offense may arise, or how 
warmly it may be received; it is time this revel were 
broken off.” 

“ It must be by your management then, gallant yeo- 
man,” said Ivanhoe ; “ for each hint I have essayed to give 
him serves only to induce him to prolong it.” 

“Must I so soon risk the pardon and favor of my 
sovereign ? ” said Robin Hood, pausing for an instant ; 
“ but, by St. Christopher, it shall be so. I were unde- 
serving his grace did I not peril it for his good. Here, 
Scathlock, get thee behind yonder thicket, and wind me a 
Norman blast on thy bugle, and without an instant’s de- 
lay, on peril of your life.” 

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five 
minutes the revelers were startled by the sound of his 
horn. 

“ It is the bugle of Malvoisin,” said the Miller, starting 
to his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped the 
flagon, and grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopped 
short in the midst of a jest, and betook himself to sword 
and target. All the others stood to their weapons. 

Men of their precarious course of life change readily 
from the banquet to the battle; and to Richard the ex- 
change seemed but a succession of pleasure. He called 
for his helmet and the most cumbrous parts of his armor, 
which he had laid aside; and while Gurth was putting 
them on, he laid his strict injunctions on Wilfred, under 


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Ivanhoe 


49 ° 

pain of his highest displeasure, not to engage in the 
skirmish which he supposed was approaching. 

“ Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred, 
and I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and 
5 see how Richard will fight for his friend and liegeman.” 

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several of 
his followers in different directions, as if to reconnoiter 
the enemy; and when he saw the company effectually 
broken up, he approached Richard, who was now com- 
10 pletely armed, and, kneeling down on one knee, craved 
pardon of his sovereign. 

“ For what, good yeoman ? ” said Richard, somewhat 
impatiently. “ Have we not already granted thee a full 
pardon for all transgressions? Thinkest thou our word 
15 is a feather, to be blown backward and forward between 
us? Thou canst not have had time to commit any new 
offense since that time?” 

“ Aye, but I have though,” answered the yeoman, “ if it 
be an offense to deceive my prince for his own advantage. 
20 The bugle you have heard was none of Malvoisin’s, but 
blown by my direction, to break off the banquet, lest it 
trenched upon hours of dearer import than to be thus 
dallied with.” 

He then rose from his knee, folded his arms on his 
25 bosom, and, in a manner rather respectful than submis- 
sive, awaited the answer of the King, like one who is con- 
scious he may have given offense, yet is confident in 
the rectitude of his motive. The blood rushed in anger 
to the countenance of Richard ; but it was the first 
30 transient emotion, and his sense of justice instantly sub- 
dued it. 

“ The King of Sherwood,” he said, “ grudges his veni- 
son and his wine-flask to the King of England ! It is 
well, bold Robin ! but when you come to see me in merry 
35 London, I trust to be a less niggard host. Thou art 
right, however, good fellow. Let us therefore to horse 
and away. Wilfred has been impatient this hour. Tell 
me, bold Robin, hast thou never a friend in thy band, 
who, not content with advising, will needs direct thy mo- 


Ivanhoe 


49 1 

tions, and look miserable when thou dost presume to act 
for thyself?” 

“ Such a one,” said Robin, “ is my lieutenant. Little 
John, who is even now absent on an expedition as far 
as the borders of Scotland ; and I will own to your 
Majesty that I am sometimes displeased by the freedom 
of his counsels; but, when I think twice, I cannot be long 
angry with one who can have no motive for his anxiety 
save zeal for his master’s service.” 

“ Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Richard ; 
“ and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave 
advice, and recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, 
and thee, on the other, to trick me into what thou think- 
| est my own good, I should have as little the freedom of 
mine own will as any king in Christendom or Heathen- 
esse. But come, sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh, 
j and think no more on’t.” 

Robin Hood assured them that he had detached a party 
i in the direction of the road they were to pass, who would 
not fail to discover and apprise them of any secret am- 
! buscade; and that he had little doubt they would find the 
ways secure, or, if otherwise, would receive such timely 
notice of the danger as would enable them to fall back on 
a strong troop of archers, with which he himself proposed 
to follow on the same route. 

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his 
safety touched Richard’s feelings, and removed any slight 
grudge which he might retain on account of the deception 
the outlaw captain had practiced upon him. He once 
more extended his hand to Robin Hood, assured him of 
his full pardon and future favor, as well as his firm resolu- 
I tion to restrain the tyrannical exercise of the forest rights 
and other oppressive laws, by which so many English 
I yeomen were driven into a state of rebellion. But Rich- 
ard’s good intentions towards the bold outlaw were frus- 
trated by the King’s untimely death; and the Charter of 
the Forest was extorted from the unwilling hands of 
I King John when he succeeded to his heroic brother. As 
for the rest of Robin Hood’s career, as well as the tale of 


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his treacherous death, they are to be found in those black- 
letter garlands, once sold at the low and easy rate of one 
halfpenny — 

Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold. 

5 The outlaw’s opinion proved true ; and the King, at- 
tended by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived without 
any interruption within view of the Castle of Conings- 
burgh, while the sun was yet in the horizon. 

There are few more beautiful or striking scenes in Eng- 
10 land than are presented by the vicinity of this ancient 
Saxon fortress. The soft and gentle river Don sweeps 
through an amphitheater, in which cultivation is richly 
blended with woodland, and on a mount ascending from 
the river, well defended by walls and ditches, rises this 
15 ancient edifice, which, as its Saxon name implies, 
was, previous to the Conquest, a royal residence of the 
kings of England. The outer walls have probably been 
added by the Normans, but the inner keep bears token of 
very great antiquity. It is situated on a mount at one 
20 angle of the inner court, and forms a complete circle of 
perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter. The wall is of im- 
mense thickness, and is propped or defended by six 
huge external buttresses, which project from the circle, 
and rise up against the sides of the tower as if to 
25 strengthen or to support it. These massive buttresses are 
solid when they arise from the foundation, and a good 
way higher up; but are hollowed out towards the top, 
and terminate in a sort of turrets communicating with the 
interior of the keep itself. The distant appearance of 
30 this huge building, with these singular accompaniments, 
is as interesting to the lovers of the picturesque as the 
interior of the castle is to the eager antiquary, whose im- 
agination it carries back to the days of the Heptarchy. 
A barrow, in the vicinity of the castle, is pointed out as 
35 the tomb of the memorable Hengist; and various monu- 
ments, of great antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the 
neighboring churchyard. 

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this 


Ivanhoe 


493 

rude yet stately building, it was not, as at present, sur- 
rounded by external fortifications. The Saxon architect 
had exhausted his art in rendering the main keep defensi- 
ble, and there was no other circumvallation than a rude 
barrier of palisades. 

A huge black banner, which floated from the top of the 
tower, announced that the obsequies of the late owner 
were still in the act of being solemnized. It bore no em- 
blem of the deceased's birth or quality, for armorial bear- 
ings were then a novelty among the Norman chivalry 
themselves, and were totally unknown to the Saxons. 
But above the gate was another banner, on which the fig- 
ure of a white horse, rudely painted, indicated the nation 
and rank of the deceased, by the well-known symbol of 
Hengist and his Saxon warriors. 

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion; 
for such funeral banquets were times of general and pro- 
fuse hospitality, which not only every one who could 
claim the most distant connection with the deceased, but 
all passengers whatsoever, were invited to partake. The 
wealth and consequence of the deceased Athelstane occa- 
sioned this custom to be observed in the fullest extent. 

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and 
descending the hill on which the castle was situated; and 
when the King and his attendants entered the open and 
unguarded gates of the external barrier, the space within 
presented a scene not easily reconciled with the cause of 
the assemblage. In one place cooks were toiling to roast 
huge oxen and fat sheep; in another, hogsheads of ale 
were set abroach, . to be drained at the freedom of all 
comers. Groups of every description were to be seen de- 
vouring the food and swallowing the liquor thus aban- 
doned to their discretion. The naked Saxon serf was 
drowning the sense of his half-year’s hunger and thirst 
in one day of gluttony and drunkenness; the more pam- 
pered burgess and guild-brother was eating his morsel 
with gust, or curiously criticizing the quantity of the malt 
and the skill of the brewer. Some few of the poorer 
Norman gentry might also be seen, distinguished by their 


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Ivanhoe 


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shaven chins and short cloaks, and not less so by their 
keeping together, and looking with great scorn on the 
whole solemnity, even while condescending to avail them- 
selves of the good cheer which was so liberally supplied. 

5 Mendicants were, of course, assembled by the score, to- 
gether with strolling soldiers returned from Palestine (ac- 
cording to their own account at least) ; peddlers were dis- 
playing their wares; traveling mechanics were inquiring 
after employment; and wandering palmers, hedge-priests, 
10 Saxon minstrels, and Welsh bards, were muttering 
prayers, and extracting mistuned dirges from their harps, 
crowds, and rotes. One sent forth the praises of Athel- 
stane in a doleful panegyric; another, in a Saxon gene- 
alogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth and harsh names of 
15 his noble ancestry. Jesters and jugglers were not awant- 
ing, nor was the occasion of the assembly supposed to 
render the exercise of their profession indecorous or im- 
proper. Indeed, the ideas of the Saxons on these occa- 
sions were as natural as they were rude. If sorrow was 
20 thirsty, there was drink; if hungry, there was food; if it 
sunk down upon and saddened the heart, here were the 
means supplied of mirth, or at least of amusement. Nor 
did the assistants scorn to avail themselves of those means 
of consolation, although, every now and then, as if sud- 
25 denly recollecting the cause which had brought them to- 
gether, the men groaned in unison, while the females, of 
whom many were present, raised up their voices and 
shrieked for very woe. 

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh 
30 when it was entered by Richard and his followers. The 
seneschal or steward deigned not to take notice of the 
groups of inferior guests who were perpetually entering 
and withdrawing, unless so far as was necessary to pre- 
serve order ; nevertheless, he was struck by the good mien 
35 of the Monarch and Ivanhoe, more especially as he im- 
agined the features of the latter were familiar to him. 
Besides, the approach of two knights, for such their dress 
bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxon solemnity, and 
could not but be regarded as a sort of honor to the de- 


Ivanhoe 


495 


ceased and his family. And in his sable dress, and hold- 
ing in his hand his white wand of office, this important 
personage made way through the miscellaneous assem- 
blage of guests, thus conducting Richard and Ivanhoe to 
the entrance of the tower. Gurth and Wamba speedily 5 
found acquaintances in the courtyard, nor presumed to 
intrude themselves any farther until their presence should 
be required. 


CHAPTER XLII 


I found them winding of Marcello’s corpse. 

And there was such a solemn melody,. 

’Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies, — 

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead, 

Are wont to outwear the night with. 

Old Play. 

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh 
Castle is very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplicity 
of the early times in which it was erected. A flight of 
steps, so deep and narrow as to be almost precipitous, 
5 leads up to a low portal in the south side of the tower, 
by which the adventurous antiquary may still, or at least 
could a few years since, gain access to a small stair within 
the thickness of the main wall of the tower, which leads 
up to the third story of the building — the two lower being 
10 dungeons or vaults, which neither receive air nor light, 
save by a square hole in the third story, with which they 
seem to have communicated by a ladder. The access to 
the upper apartments in the tower, which consist in all 
of four stories, is given by stairs which are carried up 
15 through the external buttresses. 

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good 
King Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was ush- 
ered into the round apartment which occupies the whole 
of the third story from the ground. Wilfred, by the dif- 
20 Acuities of the ascent, gained time to muffle his face in his 
mantle, as it had been held expedient that he should not 
present himself to his father until the King should give 
him the signal. 

There were assembled in this apartment, around a large 
25 oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguished rep- 

496 


Ivanhoe 


497 


resentatives of the Saxon families in the adjacent coun- 
ties. These were all old, or at least elderly, men; for 
the younger race, to the great displeasure of the seniors, 
had, like Ivanhoe, broken down many of the barriers 
which separated for half a century the Norman victors 
from the vanquished Saxons. The downcast and sorrow- 
ful looks of these venerable men, their silence and their 
mournful posture, formed a strong contrast to the levity 
of the revelers on the outside of the castle. Their gray 
locks and long full beards, together with their antique 
tunics and loose black mantles, suited well with the singu- 
lar and rude apartment in which they were seated, and 
gave the appearance of a band of ancient worshipers of 
Woden, recalled to life to mourn over the decay of their 
national glory. 

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, 
seemed yet, by common consent, to act as chief of the 
assembly. Upon the entrance of Richard (only known 
to him as the valorous Knight of the Fetterlock) he arose 
gravely, and gave him welcome by the ordinary salutation, 
Waes hael, raising at the same time a goblet to his head. 
The King, no stranger to the customs of his English sub- 
jects, returned the greeting with the appropriate words, 
Drinc hael, and partook of a cup which was handed to 
him by the sewer. The same courtesy was offered to 
Ivanhoe, who pledged his father in silence, supplying the 
usual speech by an inclination of his head, lest his voice 
should have been recognized. 

When this introductory ceremony was performed, Ced- 
ric arose, and, extending his hand to Richard, conducted 
him into a small ar 1 very rude chapel, which was exca- 
vated, as it were, out of one of the external buttresses. 
As there was no opening, saving a very narrow loophole, 
the place would have been nearly quite dark but for two 
flambeaux or torches, which showed, by a red and 
smoky light, the arched roof and naked walls, the rude 
altar of stone, and the crucifix of the same material. 

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side' of 
this bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, and 


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Ivanhoe 


498 

muttered their prayers, with the greatest signs of external 
devotion. For this service a splendid “ soul-scat ” was 
paid to the convent of St. Edmund’s by the mother of 
the deceased; and, that it might be fully deserved, the 
5 whole brethren, saving the lame sacristan, had transferred 
themselves to Coningsburgh, where, while six of their 
number were constantly on guard in the performance of 
divine rites by the bier of Athelstane, the others failed 
not to take their share of the refreshments and amuse- 
10 ments which went on at the castle. In maintaining this 
pious watch and ward, the good monks were particularly 
careful not to interrupt their hymns for an instant, lest 
Zernebock, the ancient Saxon Apollyon, should lay his 
clutches on the departed Athelstane. Nor were they less 
15 careful to prevent any unhallowed layman from touching 
the pall, which, having been that used at the funeral of 
St. Edmund, was liable to be desecrated if handled by 
the profane. If, in truth, these attentions could be of 
any use to the deceased, he had some right to expect them 
20 at the hands of the brethren of St. Edmund’s, since, be- 
sides a hundred mancuses of gold paid down as the soul- 
ransom, the mother of Athelstane had announced her in- 
tention of endowing that foundation with the better part 
of the lands of the deceased, in order to maintain per- 
25 petual prayers for his soul and that of her departed hus- 
band. 

Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into 
the apartment of death, where, as their guide pointed with 
solemn air to the untimely bier of Athelstane, they fol- 
30 lowed his example in devoutly crossing themselves, and 
muttering a brief prayer for the weal of the departed 
soul. 

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again mo- 
tioned them to follow him, gliding over the stone floor 
35 with a noiseless tread ; and, after ascending a few steps, 
opened with great caution the door of a small oratory, 
which adjoined to the chapel. It was about eight feet 
square, hollowed, like the chapel itself, out of the thick- 
ness of the wall; and the loophole which enlightened it 


Ivanhoe 


499 

being to the west, and widening considerably as it sloped 
.. inward, a beam of the setting sun found its way into its 
dark recess, and showed a female of a dignified mien, and 
whose countenance retained the marked remains of ma- 
jestic beauty. Her long mourning robes, and her flowing 
wimple of black cypress, enhanced the whiteness of her 
skin, and the beauty of her light-colored and flowing 
tresses, which time had neither thinned nor mingled with 
silver. Her countenance expressed the deepest sorrow 
that is consistent with resignation. On the stone table 
s before her stood a crucifix of ivory, beside which was laid 
a missal, having its pages richly illuminated, and its 
boards adorned with clasps of gold and bosses of the same 
precious metal. 

“ Noble Edith,” said Cedric, after having stood a mo- 
ment silent, as if to give Richard and Wilfred time to 
look upon the lady of the mansion, “ these are worthy 
strangers come to take a part in thy sorrows. And this, 
in especial, is the valiant knight who fought so bravely 
for the deliverance of him for whom we this day 
mourn.” 

; “His bravery has my thanks,” returned the lady; “al- 
though it be the will of Heaven that it should be dis- 
played in vain. I thank, too, his courtesy, and that of 
his companion, which hath brought them hither to behold 
the widow of Adding, the mother of Athelstane, in her 
deep hour of sorrow and lamentation. To your care, kind 
kinsman, I entrust them, satisfied that they will want no 
hospitality which these sad walls can yet afford.” 

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent, and 
withdrew with their hospitable guide. 

Another winding stair conducted them to an apartment 
of the same size with that which they had first entered, 
occupying indeed the story immediately above. From 
this room, ere yet the door was opened, proceeded a low 
and melancholy strain of vocal music. When they en- 
tered, they found themselves in the presence of about 
twenty matrons and maidens of distinguished Saxon line- 
age. Four maidens, Rowena leading the choir, raised a 


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Ivanhoe 


500 

hymn for the soul of the deceased, of which we have only 
been able to decipher two or three stanzas: — 

Dust unto dust, 

To this all must. 

5 The tenant hath resign’d 

The faded form 
To waste and worm: 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
10 Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe. 

Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 
Of actions done below. 

15 In that sad place. 

By Mary’s grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be! 

Till prayers and alms, 

And holy psalms, 

2o Shall set the captive free. 

While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy 
tone, by the female choristers, the others were divided 
into two bands, of which one was engaged in bedecking, 
with such embroidery as their skill and taste could com- 
25 pass, a large silken pall, destined to cover the bier of 
Athelstane, while the others busied themselves in select- 
ing, from baskets of flowers placed before them, garlands, 
which they intended for the same mournful purpose. The 
behavior of the maidens was decorous, if not marked with 
30 deep affliction; but now and then a whisper or a smile 
called forth the rebuke of the severer matrons, and here 
and there might be seen a damsel more interested in en- 
deavoring to find out how her mourning-robe became her 
than in the dismal ceremony for which they were prepar- 
35 ing. Neither was this propensity (if we must needs con- 
fess the truth) at all diminished by the appearance of two 
strange knights, which occasioned some looking up, peep- 


Ivanhoe 


501 

ing, and whispering. Rowena alone, too proud to be vain, 
paid her greeting to her deliverer with a graceful courtesy. 
Her demeanor was serious, but not dejected; and it may 
be doubted whether thoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the un- 
certainty of his fate, did not claim as great a share in her 5 
gravity as the death of her kinsman. 

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was not 
remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions, the sorrow of 
his ward seemed so much deeper than any of the other 
maidens that he deemed it proper to whisper the explana- 10 
tion, “ She was the affianced bride of the noble Athel- 
stane.” It may be doubted whether this communication 
went a far way to increase Wilfred’s disposition to sym- 
pathize with the mourners of Coningsburgh. 

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the dif- 15 
ferent chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane 
were celebrated under different forms, Cedric conducted 
them into a small room, destined, as he informed them, 
for the exclusive accommodation of honorable guests, 
whose more slight connection with the deceased might 20 
render them unwilling to join those who were immedi- 
ately affected by the unhappy event. He assured them of 
every accommodation, and was about to withdraw when 
the Black Knight took his hand. 

“ I crave to remind you, noble thane,” he said, “ that 25 
when we last parted you promised, for the service I had 
the fortune to render you, to grant me a boon.” 

“ It is granted ere named, noble Knight,” said Cedric ; 

“ yet, at this sad moment — ” 

“ Of that also,” said the King, “ I have bethought me ; 30 
but my time is brief ; neither does it seem to me unfit that, 
when closing the grave on the noble Athelstane, we should 
deposit therein certain prejudices and hasty opinions.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,” said Cedric, coloring, 
and interrupting the King in his turn, “ I trust your boon 35 
regards yourself and no other ; for in that which concerns 
the honor of my house, it is scarce fitting that a stranger 
should mingle.” 

“ Nor do I wish to mingle,” said the King, mildly, “ un- 


Ivanhoe 


502 

less in so far as you will admit me to have an interest. 
As yet you have known me but as the Black Knight 
of the Fetterlock. Know me now as Richard Plantag- 
enet.” 

5 “ Richard of Anjou! ” exclaimed Cedric, stepping back- 

ward with the utmost astonishment. 

“No, noble Cedric — Richard of England! whose deep- 
est interest — whose deepest wish, is to see her sons united 
with each other. And, how now, worthy thane ! hast thou 
10 no knee for thy prince ? ” 

“To Norman blood,” said Cedric, “it hath never 
bended.” 

“ Reserve thine homage then,” said the Monarch, “ un- 
til I shall prove my right to it by my equal protection of 
15 Normans and English.” 

“ Prince,” answered Cedric, “ I have ever done justice 
to thy bravery and thy worth. Nor am I ignorant of thy 
claim to the crown through thy descent from Matilda, 
niece to Edgar Atheling, and daughter to Malcolm of 
20 Scotland. But Matilda, though of the royal Saxon blood, 
was not the heir to the monarchy.” 

“ I will not dispute my title with thee, noble thane,” 
said Richard, calmly ; “ but I will bid thee look around 
thee, and see where thou wilt find another to be put into 
25 the scale against it.” 

“ And hast thou wandered hither, Prince, to tell me 
so ? ” said Cedric — “ to upbraid me with the ruin of my 
race, ere the grave has closed o’er the last scion of Saxon 
royalty ? ” His countenance darkened as he spoke. “ It 
30 was boldly — it was rashly done ! ” 

“ Not so, by the holy rood ! ” replied the King; “ it was 
done in the frank confidence which one brave man may 
repose in another, without a shadow of danger.” 

“Thou sayest well, Sir King — for King I own thou 
35 art, and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition. I dare 
not take the only mode to prevent it, though thou hast 
placed the strong temptation within my reach ! ” 

“ And now to my boon,” said the King, “ which I ask 
not with one jot the less confidence, that thou hast re- 


Ivanhoe 


503 

fused to acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I require 
of thee, as a man of thy word, on pain of being held faith- 
less, man-sworn, and ‘ nidering,’ to forgive and receive 
to thy paternal affection the good knight, Wilfred of Ivan- 
hoe. In this reconciliation thou wilt own I have an in- 
terest — the happiness of my friend, and the quelling of 
dissension among my faithful people.” 

“ And this is Wilfred ! ” said Cedric, pointing to his 
son. 

“ My father ! — my father ! ” said Ivanhoe, prostrating 
himself at Cedric’s feet, “ grant me thy forgiveness ! ” 

“ Thou hast it, my son,” said Cedric, raising him up. 
“ The son of Hereward knows how to keep his word, even 
when it has been passed to a Norman. But let me see 
thee use the dress and costume of thy English ancestry: 
no short cloaks, no gay bonnets, no fantastic plumage in 
my decent household. He that would be the son of Cedric 
must show himself of English ancestry. Thou art about 
to speak,” he added, sternly, “ and I guess the topic. The 
Lady Rowena must complete two years’ mourning, as for 
a betrothed husband: all our Saxon ancestors would dis- 
own us were we to treat of a new union for her ere the 
grave of him she should have wedded — him so much the 
most worthy of her hand by birth and ancestry — is yet 
closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would burst his 
bloody cerements, and stand before us to forbid such dis- 
honor to his memory.” 

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a specter; 
for scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and 
Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood 
before them, pale, haggard, and like something arisen 
from the dead ! 

The effect of this apparition on the persons present was 
utterly appalling. Cedric started back as far as the wall 
of the apartment would permit, and, leaning against it as 
one unable to support himself, gazed on the figure of his 
friend with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth which he 
appeared incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, 
repeating prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman-French, as 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


504 Ivanhoe 

they occurred to his memory, while Richard alternately I 
said “ Benedicite” and swore, “ Mort de ma vie!” 

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below 
stairs, some crying, “ Secure the treacherous monks ! j 
5 others, “Down with them into the dungeon ! ”— others, 1 
“ Pitch them from the highest battlements ! ” 

“In the name of God!” said Cedric, addressing what^ 
seemed the specter of his departed friend, “ if thou art j 
mortal, speak ! — if a departed spirit, say for what cause j 
10 thou dost revisit us, or if I can do aught that can set thy 
spirit at repose. Living or dead, noble Athelstane, speak j 
to Cedric ! ” ] 

“ I will,” said the specter, very composedly, “ when I 
have collected breath, and when you give me time. Alive, 

15 saidst thou ? I am as much alive as he can be who has j 
fed on bread and water for three days, which seem three j 
ages. Yes, bread and water, father Cedric ! By Heaven, j 
and all saints in it, better food hath not passed my j 
weasand for three livelong days, and by God’s providence i 
20 it is that I am now here to tell it.” 

“ Why, noble Athelstane,” said the Black Knight, “ I 
myself saw you struck down by the fierce Templar to- 
wards the end of the storm at Torquilstone, and, as I 
thought, and Wamba reported, your skull was cloven 1 
25 through the teeth.” 

“ You thought amiss, Sir Knight,” said Athelstane, I 
“ and Wamba lied. My teeth are in good order, and that 
my supper shall presently find. No thanks to the Tem- 
plar though, whose sword turned in his hand, so that the 
30 blade struck me flatlings, being averted by the handle of 
the good mace with which I warded the blow; had my 
steel-cap been on, I had not valued it a rush, and had 
dealt him such a counterbuff as would have spoiled his re- 
treat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, indeed, but 
35 unwounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten down and 
slaughtered above me, so that I never recovered my senses I 
until I found myself in a coffin — an open one, by good ] 
luck ! — placed before the altar of the church of St. Ed- 
mund’s. I sneezed repeatedly — groaned — awakened, j 


Ivanhoe 


505 

and would have arisen, when the sacristan and abbot, full 
of terror, came running at the noise, surprised, doubtless, 
and no way pleased, to find the man alive whose heirs they 
had proposed themselves to be. I asked for wine; they 
gave me some, but it must have been highly medicated, 5 
for I slept yet more deeply than before, and wakened not 
for many hours. I found my arms swathed down, my 
feet tied so fast that mine ankles ache at the very remem- 
brance; the place was utterly dark — the oubliette, as I 
suppose, of their accursed convent, and from the close, 10 
stifled, damp smell I conceive it is also used for a place 
of sepulture. I had strange thoughts of what had befallen 
me, when the door of my dungeon creaked, and two vil- 
lain monks entered. They would have persuaded me I 
was in purgatory, but I knew too well the pursy, short- 15 
breathed voice of the father abbot. St. Jeremy ! how 
different from that tone with which he used to ask me for 
another slice of the haunch ! the dog has feasted with me 
from Christmas to Twelfth Night.” 

“ Have patience, noble Athelstane,” said the King, “ take 20 
breath — tell your story at leisure; beshrew me but such 
a tale is as well worth listening to as a romance.” 

“ Aye but, by the rood of Bromholme, there was no ro- 
mance in the matter ! ” said Athelstane. “ A barley loaf 
and a pitcher of water — that they gave me, the niggardly 25 
traitor, whom my father, and I myself, had enriched, when 
their best resources were the flitches of bacon and meas- 
ures of corn out of which they wheedled poor serfs and 
bondsmen, in exchange for their prayers. The nest of 
foul, ungrateful vipers — barley bread and ditch water to 30 
such a patron as I had been ! I will smoke them out of 
their nest, though I be excommunicated ! ” 

“ But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane,” said 
Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend, ‘‘how didst thou 
escape this imminent danger? did their hearts relent?” 35 

“ Did their hearts relent ! ” echoed Athelstane. “ Do 
rocks melt with the sun? I should have been there still, 
had not some stir in the convent, which I find was their 
procession hitherward to eat my funeral feast, when they 


Ivanhoe 


50 6 

well knew how and where I had been buried alive, sum- 
moned the swarm out of their hive. I heard them droning 
out their death-psalms, little judging they were sung in 
respect for my soul by those who were thus famishing 
5 my body. They went, however, and I waited long for < 
food; no wonder— ^ the gouty sacristan was even too busy J 
with his own provender to mind mine. At length down 1 
he came, with an unstable step and a strong flavor of l 
wine and spices about his person. Good cheer had opened ;] 
10 his heart, for he left me a nook of pasty and a flask of 
wine instead of my former fare. I ate, drank, and was ] 
invigorated; when, to add to my good luck, the sacristan, I 
too totty to discharge his duty of turnkey fitly, locked the i 
door beside the staple, so that it fell ajar. The light, the 
15 food, the wine set my invention to work. The staple to 1 
which my chains were fixed was more rusted than I or the a 
villain abbot had supposed. Even iron could not remain i 
without consuming in the damps of that infernal dun- ] 
geon.” 

20 “Take breath, noble Athelstane,” said Richard, “and j 
partake of some refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale J 
so dreadful.” 

“ Partake ! ” quoth Athelstane. “ I have been partak- 1 
ing five times to-day; and yet a morsel of that savory ham £ 
25 were not altogether foreign to the matter: and I pray 
you, fair sir, to do me reason in a cup of wine.” 

The guests, though still agape with astonishment, 
pledged their resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded 
in his story. He had indeed now many more auditors | 
30 than those to whom it was commenced, for Edith, hav- 1 
ing given certain necessary orders for arranging matters j 
within the castle, had followed the dead-alive up to the J 
strangers’ apartment, attended by as many of the guests, 1 
male and female, as could squeeze into the small room, 

35 while others, crowding the staircase, caught up an errone- 1 
ous edition of the story, and transmitted it still more in- 9 
accurately to those beneath, who again sent it forth to 
the vulgar without, in a fashion totally irreconcilable to 


Ivanhoe 


5 07 

j the real fact. Athelstane, however, went on as follows 
j with the history of his escape : — 

“ Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged my- 
i self upstairs as well as a man loaded with shackles, and 
j emaciated with fasting, might; and after much groping 
about, I was at length directed, by the sound of a jolly 
roundelay, to the apartment where the worthy sacristan, 
an it so please ye, was holding a devil's mass with a huge 
beetle-browed, broad-shouldered brother of the gray-frock 
j and cowl, who looked much more like a thief than a 
] clergyman. I burst in upon them, and the fashion of my 
| grave-clothes, as well as the clanking of my chains, made 
j me more resemble an inhabitant of the other world than 
of this. Both stood aghast; but when I knocked down 
j the sacristan with my fist, the other fellow, his pot-com- 
panion, fetched a blow at me with a huge quarter-staff.” 

“ This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count’s ransom,” 
said Richard, looking at Ivanhoe. 

“ He may be the devil, an he will,” said Athelstane. 
“ Fortunately, he missed the aim ; and on my approaching 
to grapple with him, took to his heels and ran for it. I 
failed not to set my own heels at liberty by means of the 
fetter-key, which hung amongst others at the sexton’s 
belt; and I had thoughts of beating out the knave’s brains 
with the bunch of keys, but gratitude for the nook of 
pasty and the flask of wine which the rascal had imparted 
to my captivity came over my heart; so, with a brace of 
hearty kicks, I left him on the floor, pouched some baked 
meat and a leathern bottle of wine, with which the two 
venerable brethren had been regaling, went to the stable, 
and found in a private stall mine own best palfrey, which, 
doubtless, had been set apart for the holy father abbot’s 
particular use. Hither I came with all the speed the 
beast could compass — man and mother’s son flying be- 
fore me wherever I came, taking me for a specter, the 
I more especially as, to prevent my being recognized, I 
drew the corpse-hood over my face. I had not gained 
admittance into my own castle, had I not been supposed 


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to be the attendant of a juggler who is making the people 
in the castle-yard very merry, considering they are as- 
sembled to celebrate their lord’s' funeral. I say the sewer 
thought I was dressed to bear a part in the tregetour’s 
5 mummery, and so I got admission, and did but disclose my- 
self to my mother, and eat a hasty morsel, ere I came in 
quest of you, my noble friend.” 

“ And you have found me,” said Cedric, “ ready to re- 
sume our brave projects of honor and liberty. I tell thee, 
10 never will dawn a morrow so auspicious as the next for 
the deliverance of the noble Saxon race.” 

“ Talk not to me of delivering any one,” said Athel- 
stane ; “ it is well I am delivered myself. I am more in- 
tent on punishing that villain abbot. He shall hang on 
15 the top of this Castle of Coningsburgh, in his cope and 
stole; and if the stairs be too strait to admit his fat car- 
cass, I will have him craned up from without.” 

“ But, my son,” said Edith, “ consider his sacred office.” 

“ Consider my three days’ fast,” replied Athelstane ; “ I 
20 will have their blood every one of them. Front-de-Bceuf 
was burned alive for a less matter, for he kept a good table 
for his prisoners, only put too much garlic in his last dish 
of pottage. But these hypocritical, ungrateful slaves, so 
often the self-invited flatterers at my board, who gave me 
25 neither pottage nor garlic, more or less — they die, by the 
soul of Hengist ! ” 

“ But the Pope, my noble friend,” said Cedric — 

“ But the devil, my noble friend,” answered Athelstane; 
“ they die, and no more of them. Were they the best 
30 monks upon earth, the world would go on without them.” 

“ For shame, noble Athelstane,” said Cedric ; “ forget 
such wretches in the career of glory which lies open be- 
fore thee. Tell this Norman prince, Richard of Anjou, 
that, lion-hearted as he is, he shall not hold undisputed 
35 the throne of Alfred, while a male descendant of the Holy 
Confessor lives to dispute it.” 

“ How ! ” said Athelstane, “ is this the noble King Rich- 
ard?” 

“ It is Richard Plantagenet himself,” said Cedric ; “ yet 


Ivanhoe 


509 

I I need not remind thee that, coming hither a guest of 
1 free-will, he may neither be injured nor detained prisoner: 
I thou well knowest thy duty to him as his host.” 

“ Aye, by my faith ! ” said Athelstane ; “ and my duty 
as a subject besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, 
heart and hand.” 

“ My son,” said Edith, “ think on thy royal rights ! ” 

“ Think on the freedom of England, degenerate prince ! ” 
said Cedric. 

“ Mother and friend,” said Athelstane, “ a truce to your 
upbraidings ! Bread and water and a dungeon are mar- 
! velous mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from the tomb a 
I wiser man than I descended into it. One half of those 
| vain follies were puffed into mine ear by that perfidious 
j Abbot Wolfram, and you may now judge if he is a coun- 
selor to be trusted. Since these plots were set in agita- 
tion, I have had nothing but hurried journeys, indiges- 
tions, blows and bruises, imprisonments, and starvation; 
besides that they can only end in the murder of some 
thousands of quiet folk. I tell you, I will be king in my 
own domains, and nowhere else; and my first act of do- 
minion shall be to hang the abbot.” 

“ And my ward Rowena,” said Cedric — “ I trust you 
intend not to desert her ? ” 

“ Father Cedric,” said Athelstane, “ be reasonable. The 
i Lady Rowena cares not for me; she loves the little finger 
of my kinsman Wilfred’s glove better than my whole per- 
| son. There she stands to avouch it. Nay, blush not, 
kinswoman; there is no shame in loving a courtly knight 
better than a country franklin; and do not laugh neither, 
Rowena, for grave-clothes and a thin visage are, God 
knows, no matter of merriment. Nay, an thou wilt needs 
laugh, I will find thee a better jest. Give me thy hand, 
or rather lend it me, for I but ask it in the way of friend- 
ship. Here, cousin Wilfred of Ivanhoe, in thy favor I 
renounce and adjure — Hey! by St. Dunstan, our cousin 
Wilfred hath vanished ! Yet, unless my eyes are still daz- 
zled with the fasting I have undergone, I saw him stand 
there but even now.” 


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All now looked around and inquired for Ivanhoe; but 
he had vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew 
had been to seek him; and that, after very brief confer- 
ence, he had called for Gurth and his armor, and had left 
5 the castle. 

“ Fair cousin,” said Athelstane to Rowena, “ could I 
think that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was oc- 
casioned by other than the weightiest reason, I would my- 
self resume — ” 

10 But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observ- 
ing that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena, who had 
found her situation extremely embarrassing, had taken the 
first opportunity to escape from the apartment. 

“ Certainly,” quoth Athelstane, “ women are the least 
15 to be trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. 

I am an infidel, if I expected not thanks from her, and 
perhaps a kiss to boot. These cursed grave-clothes have 
surely a spell on them, every one flies from me. To you 
I turn, noble King Richard, with the vows of allegiance, 

20 which, as a liege subject — ” 

But King Richard was gone also, and no one knew ] 
whither. At length it was learned that he had hastened ‘ 
to the courtyard, summoned to his presence the Jew who 
had spoken with Ivanhoe, and, after a moment’s speech ■ 
25 with him, had called vehemently to horse, thrown himself 
upon a steed, compelled the Jew to mount another, and 
set off at a rate which, according to Wamba, rendered the 
old Jew’s neck not worth a penny’s purchase. 

“ By my halidome ! ” said Athelstane, “ it is certain 
30 that Zernebock hath possessed himself of my castle in my 
absence. I return in my grave-clothes, a pledge restored I 
from the very sepulcher, and every one I speak to van- 1 
ishes as soon as they hear my voice ! But it skills not 
talking of it. Come, my friends, such of you as are left, 
35 follow me to the banquet-hall, lest any more of us dis- ] 
appear. It is, I trust, as yet tolerably furnished, as be- I 
comes the obsequies of an ancient Saxon noble ; and 
should we tarry any longer, who knows but the devil may 
fly off with the supper ? ” 


CHAPTER XLIII 


Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom. 

That they may break his foaming courser’s back, 

And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 

A caitiff recreant ! 

Richard II, 

Our scene now returns to the exterior of the castle, or 
preceptory, of Templestowe, about the hour when the 
bloody die was to be cast for the life or death of Rebecca. 
It was a scene of bustle and life, as if the whole vicinity 
had poured forth its inhabitants to a village wake or rural 
feast. But the earnest desire to look on blood and death 
is not peculiar to those dark ages; though, in the gladia- 
torial exercise of single combat and general tourney, they 
were habituated to the bloody spectacle of brave men 
falling by each other’s hands. Even in our own days, 
when morals are better understood, an execution, a bruis- 
ing-match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reformers, col- 
lects, at considerable hazard to themselves, immense 
crowds of spectators, otherwise little interested, except to 
see how matters are to be conducted, or whether the heroes 
of the day are, in the heroic language of insurgent tailors, 
“ flints ” or “ dunghills.” 

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude 
were bent on the gate of the preceptory of Templestowe, 
with the purpose of witnessing the procession ; while still 
greater numbers had already surrounded the tilt-yard be- 
longing to that establishment. This inclosure was formed 
on a piece of level ground adjoining to the preceptory, 
which had been leveled with care, for the exercise of 
military and chivalrous sports. It occupied the brow of a 
soft and gentle eminence, was carefully palisaded around, 

5ii 


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Ivanhoe 


512 

and, as the Templars willingly invited spectators to 
be witnesses of their skill in feats of chivalry, was 
amply supplied with galleries and benches for their 
use. 

5 On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the 
Grand Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of 
distinction for the preceptors and knights of the order. 
Over these floated the sacred standard, called Le Beau- 
seant, which was the ensign, as its name was the battle- 
10 cry, of the Templars. 

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of faggots, 
so arranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground* 
as to leave a space for the victim whom they were des- 
tined to consume to enter within the fatal circle, in order 
15 to be chained to the stake by the fetters which hung ready 
for that purpose. Beside this deadly apparatus stood 
four black slaves, whose color and African features, then 
so little known in England, appalled the multitude, who 
gazed on them as on demons employed about their own 
20 diabolical exercises. These men stirred not, excepting 
now and then, under the direction of one who seemed 
their chief, to shift and replace the ready fuel. They 
looked not on the multitude. In fact, they seemed insensi- 
ble of their presence, and of everything save the discharge 
25 of their own horrible duty. And when, in speech with 
each other, they expanded their blubber lips, and showed 
their white fangs, as if they grinned at the thoughts of 
the expected tragedy, the startled commons could scarcely 
help believing that they were actually the familiar spirits 
30 with whom the witch had communed, and who, her time 
being out, stood ready to assist in her dreadful punish- 
ment. They whispered to each other, and communicated 
all the feats which Satan had performed during that busy 
and unhappy period, not failing, of course, to give the 
devil rather more than his due. 

“ Have you not heard, father Dennet,” quoth one boor 
to another advanced in years, “ that the devil has carried 
away bodily the great Saxon thane, Athelstane of Con- 
ingsburgh ? ” 


Ivanhoe 


513 

“ Aye, but he brought him back though, by the blessing 
of God and St. Dunstan.” 

“How’s that?” said a brisk young fellow, dressed in a 
green cassock embroidered with gold, and having at his 
heels a stout lad bearing a harp upon his back, which be- 
trayed his vocation. The Minstrel seemed of no vulgar 
rank; for, besides the splendor of his gayly broidered 
doublet, he wore around his neck a silver chain, by which 
hung the “ wrest,” or key, with which he tuned his harp. 
On his right arm was a silver plate, which, instead of 
bearing, as usual, the cognizance or badge of the baron 
to whose family he belonged, had barely the word Sher- 
wood engraved upon it. “ How mean you by that?” said 
the gay Minstrel, mingling in the conversation of the 
peasants; “I came to seek one subject for my rhyme, 
and, by’r Lady, I were glad to find two.” 

“ It is well avouched,” said the elder peasant, “ that 
after Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four 
weeks — ” 

“ That is impossible,” said the Minstrel ; “ I saw him in 
life at the passage of arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

* “ Dead, however, he was, or else translated,” said the 
younger peasant; “for I heard the monks of St. Ed- 
mund’'s singing the death’s hymn for him; and, moreover, 
there was a rich death-meal and dole at the Castle of 
Coningsburgh, as right was; and thither had I gone, but 
for Mabel Parkins, who — ” 

“ Aye, dead was Athelstane,” said the old man, shaking 
his head, “ and the more pity it was, for the old Saxon 
blood — ” 

, “ But, your story, my masters — your story,” said the 
Minstrel, somewhat impatiently. 

“Aye, aye — construe us the story,” said a burly friar, 
who stood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited 
an appearance between a pilgrim’s staff and a quarter- 
staff, and probably acted as either when occasion served 
— “ your story,” said the stalwart churchman. “ Burn not 
daylight about it; we have short time to spare.” 

“ An please your reverence,” said Dennet, “ a drunken 


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Ivanhoe 


54 

priest came to visit the sacristan at St. Edmund’s — ” 

“ It does not please my reverence,” answered the church- 
man, “ that there should be such an animal as a drunken 
priest, or, if there were, that a layman should so speak 
5 him. Be mannerly, my friend, and conclude the holy 
man only wrapped in meditation, which makes the head 
dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the stomach were filled with 
new wine: I have felt it myself.” 

“ Well, then,” answered father Dennet, “ a holy brother 
10 came to visit the sacristan at St. Edmund’s — a sort of 
hedge-priest is the visitor, and kills half the deer that are 
stolen in the forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot 
better than the sacring-bell, and deems a flitch of bacon 
worth ten of his breviary; for the rest, a good fellow and 
15 a merry, who will flourish a quarter-staff, draw a bow, 
and dance a Cheshire round with e’er a man in York- 
shire.” 

“ That last part of thy speech, Dennet,” said the Min- 
strel, “ has saved thee a rib or twain.” 

20 “Tush, man, I fear him not,” said Dennet; “I am 
somewhat old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell and 
ram at Doncaster — ” 

“ But the story — the story, my friend,” again said the 
Minstrel. 

25 “ Why, the tale is but this — Athelstane of Conings- 

burgh was buried at St. Edmund’s.” 

“ That’s a lie, and a loud one,” said the friar, “ for I 
saw him borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.” 

“ Nay, then, e’en tell the story yourself, my masters,” 
30 said Dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradic- 
tions; and it was with some difficulty that the boor could 
be prevailed on, by the request of his comrade and the 
Minstrel, to renew his tale. “These two sober friars,” 
said he at length, “ since this reverend man will needs 
35 have them such, had continued drinking good ale, and 
wine, and what not, for the best part of a summer’s day, 
when they were aroused by a deep groan, and a clanking 
of chains, and the figure of the deceased Athelstane en- 
tered the apartment, saying, 4 Ye evil shepherds — !’” 


Ivanhoe 515 

“ It is false/’ said the friar, hastily, “ he never spoke a 
word.” 

” So ho ! Friar Tuck,” said the Minstrel, drawing him 
apart from the rustics; “we have started a new hare, I 
find.” 

“ I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,” said the hermit, “ I saw 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever 
saw a living man. He had his shroud on, and all about 
him smelt of the sepulcher. A butt of sack will not wash 
it out of my memory.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” answered the Minstrel ; “ thou dost but jest 
with me ! ” 

“ Never believe me,” said the Friar, “ an I fetched not 
a knock at him with my quarter-staff that would have 
felled an ox, and it glided through his body as it might 
through a pillar of smoke ! ” 

“ By St. Hubert,” said the Minstrel, “ but it is a won- 
drous tale, and fit to be put in meter to the ancient tune, 

; ‘ Sorrow came to the Old Friar.’ ” 

“Laugh, if ye list,” said Friar Tuck; “but an ye catch 
me singing on such a theme, may the next ghost or devil 
carry me off with him headlong! No, no — I instantly 
formed the purpose of assisting at some good work, such 
as the burning of a witch, a judicial combat, or the like 
matter of godly service, and therefore am I here.” 

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church 
of St. Michael of Templestowe, a venerable building, sit- 
uated in a hamlet at some distance from the preceptory, 
broke short their argument. One by one the sullen sounds 
fell successively on the ear, leaving but sufficient space 
for each to die away in distant echo, ere the air was 
again filled by repetition of the iron knell. These sounds, 
the signal of the approaching ceremony, chilled with awe 
the hearts of the assembled multitude, whose eyes were 
now turned to the preceptory, expecting the approach of 
the Grand Master, the champion, and the criminal. 

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and a 
knight, bearing the great standard of the order, sallied 
from the castle, preceded by six trumpets, and followed 


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Ivanhoe 


516 

by the knights preceptors, two and two, the Grand Master 
coming last, mounted on a stately horse, whose furniture 
was of the simplest kind. Behind him came Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, armed cap-a-pie in bright armor, but with- 
5 out his lance, shield, and sword, which were borne by his 
two esquires behind him. His face, though partly hidden 
by a long plume which floated down from his barret-cap, 
bore a strong and mingled expression of passion, in which 
pride seemed to contend with irresolution. He looked 
10 ghastly pale, as if he had not slept for several nights, yet 
reined his pawing war-horse with the habitual ease and 
grace proper to the best lance of the order of the Temple. 
His general appearance was .grand and commanding ; but, 
looking at him with attention, men read that in his dark 
15 features from which they willingly withdrew their eyes. 

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet and Al- 
bert de* Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the cham- 
pion. They were in their robes of peace, the white dress 
of the order. Behind them followed other companions of 
20 the Temple, with a long train of esquires and pages clad 
in black, aspirants to the honor of being one day knights 
of the order. After these neophytes came a guard of 
warders on foot, in the same sable livery, amidst whose 
partisans might be seen the pale form of the accused, 
25 moving with a slow but undismayed step towards the scene 
of her fate. She was stripped of all her ornaments, lest 
perchance there should be among them some of those 
amulets which Satan was supposed to bestow upon his 
victims, to deprive them of the power of confession even 
30 when under the torture. A coarse white dress, of the 
simplest form, had been substituted for her Oriental gar- 
ments; yet there was such an exquisite mixture of cour- 
age and resignation in her look that even in this garb, 
and with no other ornament than her long black tresses, 
35 each eye wept that looked upon her, and the most 
hardened bigot regretted the fate that had converted a 
creature so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and a waged 
slave of the devil. 

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the pre- 


Ivanhoe 517 

ceptory followed the victim, all moving with the ut- 
most order, with arms folded and looks bent upon the 
ground. 

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence, on 
the summit of which was the tilt-yard, and, entering the 
lists, marched once around them from right to left, and 
when they had completed the circle, made a halt. There 
was then a momentary bustle, while the Grand Master 
and all his attendants, excepting the champion and his 
godfathers, dismounted from their horses, which were im- 
mediately removed out of the lists by the esquires, who 
were in attendance for that purpose. 

The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to the black 
chair placed near the pile. On her first glance at the ter- 
rible spot where preparations were making for a death 
alike dismaying to the mind and painful to the body, she 
was observed to shudder and shut her eyes, praying in- 
ternally, doubtless, for her lips moved, though no speech 
was heard. In the space of a minute she opened her eyes, 
looked fixedly on the pile as if to familiarize her mind 
with the object, and then slowly and naturally turned 
away her head. 

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat; 
and when the chivalry of his order was placed around and 
behind him, each in his due rank, a loud and long flourish 
of the trumpets announced that the court were seated for 
judgment. Malvoisin then, acting as godfather of the 
champion, stepped forward, and laid the glove of the 
Jewess, which was the pledge of battle, at the feet of 
the Grand Master. 

“ Valorous lord and reverend father,” said he, “ here 
standeth the good knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Knight 
Preceptor of the Order of the Temple, who, by accepting 
the pledge of battle which I now lay at your reverence’s 
feet, hath become bound to do his devoir in combat this 
day, to maintain that this Jewish maiden, by name Re- 
becca, hath justly deserved the doom passed upon her 
in a chapter of this most holy order of the Temple of 
Zion, condemning her to die as a sorceress — here, I say, 


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518 

he standeth, such battle to do, knightly and honorable, if 
such be your noble and sanctified pleasure.” 

“ Hath he made oath,” said the Grand Master, “ that 
his quarrel is just and honorable? Bring forward the 
5 crucifix and the Te igitur ” 

“ Sir and most reverend father,” answered Malvoisin, 
readily, “ our brother here present hath already sworn to 
the truth of his accusation in the hand of the good knight 
Conrade de Mont-Fitchet; and otherwise he ought not to 
10 be sworn, seeing that his adversary is an unbeliever, and 
may take no oath.” 

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert’s great 
joy; for the wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty, 
or rather impossibility, of prevailing upon Brian de Bois- 
15 Guilbert to take such an oath before the assembly, and 
had invented this excuse to escape the necessity of his 
doing so. 

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of 
Albert Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth 
20 and do his devoir. The trumpets then again flourished, 
and a herald, stepping forward, proclaimed aloud, “ Oyez, 
oyez. Here standeth the good knight. Sir Brian de 
filbert, ready to do battle with any knight of free 
, . j who will sustain the quarrel allowed and allotted 
c,:' the Jewess Rebecca, to try by champion, in respect of 
lawful essoine of her own body ; and to such champion the 
reverend and valorous Grand Master here present allows 
a fair field, and equal partition of sun and wind, and 
whatever else appertains to a fair combat.” The trum- 
30 pets again sounded, and there was a dead pause of many 
minutes. 

“ No champion appears for the appellant,” said the 
Grand Master. “ Go, herald, and ask her whether she 
expects anyone to do battle for her in this her cause.” 

35 The herald went to the chair in which Rebecca was 
seated ; and Bois-Guilbert, suddenly turning his horse’s 
head toward that end of the lists, in spite of hints on 
either side from Malvoisin and Mont-Fitchet, was by the 
side of Rebecca’s chair as soon as the herald. 


Ivanhoe 


519 

“ Is this regular, and according to the law of combat ?” 
said Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master. 

“ Albert de Malvoisin, it is,’’ answered Beaumanoir ; 

“ for in this appeal to the judgment of God we may not 
prohibit parties from having that communication with 5 
each other which may best tend to bring forth the truth 
of the quarrel.” 

In the meantime, the herald spoke to Rebecca in these 
terms : “ Damsel, the honorable and reverend the Grand 

Master demands of thee, if thou art prepared with a 10 
champion to do battle this day in thy behalf, or if thou 
dost yield thee as one justly condemned to a deserved 
doom ? ” 

“ Say to the Grand Master,” replied Rebecca, “ that 
I maintain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly 15 
condemned, lest I become guilty of mine own blood. 
Say to him, that I challenge such delay as his forms 
will permit, to see if God, whose opportunity is in man’s 
extremity, will raise me up a deliverer; and when such 
uttermost space is passed, may His holy will be done ! ” 20 

The herald retired to carry this answer to the Grand 
Master. 

“God forbid,” said Lucas Beaumanoir, “that Je. seat; 
Pagan should impeach us of injustice! Until the shar'd 
ows be cast from the west to the eastward, will we wan 
to see if a champion shall appear for this unfortunate 
woman. When the day is so far passed, let her prepare 
for death.” 

The herald communicated the words of the Grand Mas- 
ter to Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively, folded 30 
her arms, and, looking up towards heaven, seemed to ex- 
pect that aid from above which she could scarce promise 
herself from man. During this awful pause, the voice 
of Bois-Guilbert broke upon her ear; it was but a whis- 
per, yet it startled her more than the summons of the 35 
herald had appeared to do. 

“ Rebecca,” said the Templar, “ dost thou hear me ? ” 

“I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted man,” 
said the unfortunate maiden. 


Ivanhoe 


520 

“ Aye, but dost thou understand my words ? ” said the 
Templar; “ for the sound of my voice is frightful in mine 
own ears. I scarce know on what ground we stand, or 
for what purpose they have brought us hither. This 
5 listed space — that chair — these faggots — I know their 
purpose, and yet it appears to me like something unreal — 
the fearful picture of a vision, which appals my sense 
with hideous fantasies, but convinces not my reason.” 

“ My mind and senses keep touch and time,” answered 
10 Rebecca, “ and tell me alike that these faggots are des- 
tined to consume my earthly body, and open a painful but 
a brief passage to a better world.” 

“Dreams, Rebecca — dreams,” answered the Templar 
— “ idle visions, rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser 
15 Sadducees. Hear me, Rebecca,” he said, proceeding with 
animation; “a better chance hast thou for life and lib- 
erty than yonder knaves and dotard dream of. Mount 
thee behind me on my steed — on Zamor, the gallant 
horse that never failed his rider. I won him in single 
20 fight from the Soldan of Trebizond. Mount, I say, be- 
hind me; in one short hour is pursuit and inquiry far 
behind — a new world of pleasure opens to thee — to me 
a new career of fame. Let them speak the doom which 
I despise, and erase the name of Bois-Guilbert from their 
25 list of monastic slaves ! I will wash out with blood what- 
ever blot they may dare to cast on my scutcheon.” 

“ Tempter,” said Rebecca, “ begone ! Not in this last 
extremity canst thou move me one hair’s-breadth from 
my resting-place. Surrounded as I am by foes, I hold 
30 thee as my worst and most deadly enemy; avoid thee, in 
the name of God ! ” 

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the dura- 
tion of their conference, now advanced to interrupt 
it. 

35 “ Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt ? ” he de- 

manded of Bois-Guilbert; “or is she resolute in her de- 
nial?” 

“ She is indeed resolute,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Then,” said Malvoisin, “ must thou, noble brother, 


Ivanhoe 


521 

resume thy place to attend the issue. The shades are 
changing on the circle of the dial. Come, brave Bois- 
Guilbert — come, thou hope of our holy order, and soon 
to be its head.” 

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand 5 
on the knight’s bridle, as if to lead him back to his sta- 
tion. 

“ False villain ! what meanest thou by thy hand on 
my rein ? ” said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off his 
companion’s grasp, he rode back to the upper end of the 10 
lists. 

“ There is yet spirit in him,” said Malvoisin apart to 
Mont-Fitchet, “were it well directed; but, like the Greek 
fire, it burns whatever approaches it.” 

The judges had now been two hours in the lists, await- 15 
ing in vain the appearance of a champion. 

“ And reason good,” said Friar Tuck, “ seeing she is a 
Jewess; and yet, by mine order, it is hard that so young 
and beautiful a creature should perish without one blow 
being struck in her behalf ! Were she ten times a witch, 20 
provided she were but the least bit of a Christian, my 
quarter-staff should ring noon on the steel cap of yonder 
fierce Templar, ere he carried the matter off thus.” 

It was, however, the general belief that no one could 
or would appear for a Jewess accused of sorcery; and 25 
the knights, instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each 
other that it was time to declare the pledge of Rebecca 
forfeited. At this instant a knight, urging his horse to 
speed, appeared on the plain advancing towards the lists. 

A hundred voices exclaimed, “ A champion ! — a cham- 30 
pion!” And, despite the prepossessions and prejudices 
of the multitude, they shouted unanimously as the knight 
rode into the tilt-yard. The second glance, however, 
served to destroy the hope that his timely arrival had 
excited. His horse, urged for many miles to its utmost 35 
speed, appeared to reel from fatigue, and the rider, how- 
ever undauntedly he presented himself in the lists, either 
from weakness, weariness, or both, seemed scarce able 
to support himself in the saddle. 


Ivanhoe 


5 22 

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, 
his name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered 
readily and boldly, “lama good knight and noble, come 
hither to sustain with lance and sword the just and law- 
5 ful quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of 
York; to uphold the doom pronounced against her to be 
false and truthless, and to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert, as a traitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove in 
this field with my body against his, by the aid of God, 

10 of Our Lady, and of Monseigneur St. George, the good 
knight.” 

“ The stranger must first show,” said Malvoisin, “ that 
he is good knight, and of honorable lineage. The Tem- 
ple sendeth not forth her champions against nameless 
15 men.” 

“ My name,” said the knight, raising his helmet, “ is 
better known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine • 
own. I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.” 

“ I will not fight with thee at present,” said the Tem- 
20 plar, in a changed and hollow voice. “ Get thy wounds 
healed, purvey thee a better horse, and it may be I will i 
hold it worth my while to scourge out of thee this boyish * 
spirit of bravade.” 

“ Ha ! proud Templar,” said Ivanhoe, “ hast thou for- 
25 gotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance? Re- 1 
member the lists at Acre; remember the passage of arms 1 
at Ashby; remember thy proud vaunt in the halls of 
Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain against j, 
my reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred 
30 of Ivanhoe, and recover the honor thou hadst lost ! By 1 
that reliquary, and the holy relic it contains, I will pro- 
claim thee, Templar, a coward in every court in Europe | 
— in every preceptory of thine order — unless thou do 
battle without farther delay.” 

35 Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely to- < 
wards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at 
Ivanhoe, “ Dog of a Saxon ! take thy lance, and prepare 
for the death thou hast drawn upon thee ! ” 


Ivanhoe 


523 

“ Does the Grand Master allow me the combat ? ” said 
Ivanhoe. 

“ I may not deny what thou hast challenged,” said the 
Grand Master, “ provided the maiden accepts thee as her 
champion. Yet I would thou wert in better plight to do 
battle. An enemy of our order hast thou ever been, yet 
would I have thee honorably met with.” 

“ Thus — thus as I am, and not otherwise,” said Ivan- 
hoe; “it is the judgment of God — to His keeping I com- 
mend myself. Rebecca,” said he, riding up to the fatal 
chair, “ dost thou accept of me for thy champion ? ” 

“ I do,” she said — “I do,” fluttered by an emotion 
which the fear of death had been unable to produce — - 
“ I do accept thee as the champion whom Heaven hath 
sent me. Yet, no — no — thy wounds are uncured. 
Meet not that proud man; why shouldst thou perish 
also?” 

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed 
his visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the 
same; and his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, 
that his face, which had, notwithstanding the variety of 
emotions by which he had been agitated, continued during 
the whole morning of an ashy paleness, was now become 
suddenly very much flushed. 

The herald then, seeing each champion in his place, 
uplifted his voice, repeating thrice — Faites vos devoirs , 
preux chevaliers ! After the third cry, he withdrew to 
one side of the lists, and again proclaimed that none, on 
peril of instant death, should dare by word, cry, or ac- 
tion to interfere with or disturb this fair field of combat. 
The Grand Master, who held in his hand the gage of 
battle, Rebecca’s glove, now threw it into the lists, and 
pronounced the fatal signal words, Laissez alter. 

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each 
other in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and 
its no less exhausted rider, went down, as all had ex- 
pected, before the well-aimed lance and vigorous steed 
of the Templar. This issue of the combat all had fore- 


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Ivanhoe 


524 

seen; but although the spear of Ivanhoe did but, in com- j 
parison, touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that champion, 
to the astonishment of all who beheld it, reeled in his 
saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists. 

5 Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was 
soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his 
sword; but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing 
his foot on his breast, and the sword’s point to his throat, 
commanded him to yield him, or die on the spot. Bois- 
10 Guilbert returned no answer. 

“ Slay him not, Sir Knight,” cried the Grand Master, 

“ unshriven and unabsolved ; kill not body and soul ! We 
allow him vanquished.” 

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to 
15 unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed; 
the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked 
on him in astonishment, the eyes opened; but they were 
fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and 
gave way to the pallid hue of death. Unscathed by the 
20 lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence of 
his own contending passions. 

“ This is indeed the judgment of God,” said the Grand ! 
Master, looking upwards — “Fiat voluntas tua!” 


CHAPTER XLIV 

So! now ’tis ended, like an old wife’s story. 

Webster. 

When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of 
the field, if he had manfully and rightfully done his duty in 
the combat. 

“ Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,” said the 
Grand Master ; “ I pronounce the maiden free and guilt- 
less. The arms and the body of the deceased knight are 
at the will of the victor.” 

“ I will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the 
Knight of Ivanhoe, “ nor condemn his corpse to shame : 
he hath fought for Christendom. God’s arm, no human 
hand, hath this day struck him down. But let his obse- 
quies be private, as becomes those of a man who died in 
an unjust quarrel. And for the maiden — ” 

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, ad- 
vancing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the 
ground before them; and the Black Knight galloped into 
the lists. He was followed by a numerous band of men- 
at-arms, and several knights in complete armor. 

“ I am too late,” he said, looking around him. “ I had 
doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property. Ivanhoe, 
was this well, to take on thee such a venture, and thou 
scarce able to keep thy saddle ? ” 

“ Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “ hath taken 
this proud man for its victim. He was not to be honored 
in dying as your will had designed.” 

“ Peace be with him,” said Richard, looking stead- 
fastly on the corpse, “ if it may be so ; he was a gallant 
knight, and has died in his steel harness full knightly. 
But we must waste no time. Bohun, do thine office ! ” 

525 


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Ivanhoe 


52 6 

A knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, 
and, laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Mal- 
voisin, said, “ I arrest thee of high treason.” 

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the 
5 appearance of so many warriors. He now spoke. 

“ Who dares to arrest a knight of the Temple of Zion, 
within the girth of his own preceptory, and in the pres- 
ence of the Grand Master? and by whose authority is this 
bold outrage offered ? ” 

10 “ I make the arrest/’ replied the knight — “ I, Henry 

Bohun, Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable of Eng- 
land.” 

“And he arrests Malvoisin,” said the King, raising his 
visor, “ by the order of Richard Plantagenet, here present. 
15 Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born 
no subject of mine. But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest 
with thy brother Philip ere^the world be a week older.” 

“ I will resist thy doom,” said the Grand Master. 

“Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not: 
20 look up, and behold the royal standard of England floats 
over thy towers instead of thy Temple banner! Be wise, 
Beaumanoir, and make no bootless opposition. Thy hand 
is in the lion’s mouth.” 

“ I will appeal to Rome against thee,” said the Grand 
25 Master, “ for usurpation on the immunities and privileges 
of our order.” 

“Be it so,” said the King; “but for thine own sake 
tax me not with usurpation now. Dissolve thy chapter, 
and depart with thy followers to thy next preceptory, if 
30 thou canst find one which has not been made the scene 
of treasonable conspiracy against the King of England. 
Or, if thou wilt, remain, to share our hospitality, and be- 
hold our justice.” 

“To be a guest in the house where I should com- 
35 mand?” said the Templar; “never! Chaplains, raise the 
Psalm, Quare fremuerunt gentes ? Knights, squires, and 
followers of the Holy Temple, prepare to follow the 
banner of Beau-seant ! ” 

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which con- 


Ivanhoe 


527 

fronted even that of England’s king himself, and in- 
spired courage into his surprised and dismayed followers. 
They gathered around him like the sheep around the 
watch-dog, when they hear the baying of the wolf. But 
' they evinced not the timidity of the scared flock : there 
were dark brows of defiance, and looks which menaced 
the hostility they dared not to proffer in words. They 
drew together in a dark line of spears, from which the 
white cloaks of the knights were visible among the dusky 
garments of their retainers, like the lighter-colored edges 
of a sable cloud. The multitude, who had raised a clam- 
orous shout of reprobation, paused and gazed in silence 
on the formidable and experienced body to which they 
had unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from their 
front. 

I The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their 
assembled force, dashed the rowels into his charger’s sides, 
and galloped backwards and forwards to array his fol- 
lowers, in opposition to a band so formidable. Richard 
alone, as if he loved the danger his presence had pro- 
jvoked, rode slowly along the front of the Templars, call- 
ing aloud, “What, sirs! Among so many gallant 
knights, will none dare splinter a spear with Richard? 

I Sirs of the Temple! your ladies are but sun-burned, if 
they are not worth the shiver of a broken lance ! ” 

“ The brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter, riding forward in advance of their body, “ fight not 
on such idle and profane quarrel; and not with thee, 
Richard of England, shall a Templar cross lance in my 
presence. The Pope and princes of Europe shall judge 
our quarrel, and whether a Christian prince has done 
;well in bucklering the cause which thou hast to-day 
(adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. To 
i thine honor we refer the armor and household goods of 
the order which we leave behind us, and on thy conscience 
we lay the scandal and offense thou hast this day given to 
Christendom.” 

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the 
Grand Master gave the signal of departure. Their 


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Ivanhoe 


528 

trumpets sounded a wild march, of an Oriental character, 
which formed the usual signal for the Templars to ad- 
vance. They changed their array from a line to a column 
of march, and moved off as slowly as their horses could 
5 step, as if to show it was only the will of their Grand 
Master, and no fear of the opposing and superior force, 
which compelled them to withdraw. 

“ By the splendor of Our Lady’s brow ! ” said King 
Richard, “ it is pity of their lives that these Templars are 
10 not so trusty as they are disciplined and valiant.” 

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till 
the object of its challenge has turned his back, raised 
a feeble shout as the rear of the squadron left the 
ground. 

15 During the tumult which attended the retreat of the 
Templars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing: she was 
locked in the arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost 
senseless, with the rapid change of circumstances around 
her. But one word from Isaac at length recalled her 
20 scattered feelings. 

“ Let us go,” he said, “ my dear daughter, .my recov- ; 
ered treasure — let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of 
the good youth.” 

“ Not so,” said Rebecca. “ O no — no — no ; I must 
25 not at this moment dare to speak to him. Alas ! I should 
say more than — No, my father, let us instantly leave 
this evil place.” 

“ But, my daughter,” said Isaac, “ to leave him who 
hath come forth like a strong man with his spear and 
30 shield, holding his life as nothing, so he might redeem 
thy captivity; and thou, too, the daughter of a people 
strange unto him and his — this is service to be thank-, 
fully acknowledged.” 

“ It is — it is — most thankfully — most devoutly ac- 
35 knowledged,” said Rebecca ; “ it shall be still more so — 
but not now — for the sake of thy beloved Rachael, fa- 
ther, grant my request — not now ! ” 

“Nay, but,” said Isaac, insisting, “they will deem us 
more thankless than mere dogs ! ” 


Ivanhoe 


529 

“ But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is in 
presence, and that — ” 

“True, my best — my wisest Rebecca. Let us hence 
— let us hence ! Money he will lack, for he has just 
returned from Palestine, and, as they say, from prison; 5 
and pretext for exacting it, should he need any, may 
arise out of my simple traffic with his brother John. 
Away — away, let us hence ! ” 

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted 
her from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he 10 
had provided, transported her safely to the house of the 
Rabbi Nathan. 

The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal 
interest of the day, having now retired unobserved, the 
attention of the populace was transferred to the Black 15 
Knight. They now filled the air with “ Long life to 
Richard with the Lion’s Heart, and down with the usurp- 
ing Templars ! ” 

“ Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,” said Ivanhoe to 
the Earl of Essex, “ it was well the King took the pre- 20 
caution to bring thee with him, noble Earl, and so many 
of thy trusty followers.” 

The Earl smiled and shook his head. 

“ Gallant Ivanhoe,” said Essex, “ dost thou know our 
master so well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a 25 
precaution ! I was drawing towards York, having heard 
that Prince John was making head there, when I met 
King Richard, like a true knight-errant, galloping hither 
to achieve in his own person this adventure of the Tem- 
plar and the Jewess, with his own single arm. I accom- 30 
panied him with my band, almost maugre his consent.” 

“ And what news from York, brave Earl ? ” said Ivan- 
hoe ; “ will the rebels bide us there ? ” 

“ No more than December’s snow will bide July’s sun,” 
said the Earl; “they are dispersing; and who should 35 
come posting to bring us the news, but John himself ! ” 

“ The traitor ! — the ungrateful, insolent traitor ! ” 
said Ivanhoe ; “ did not Richard order him into confine- 
ment ? ” 


Ivanhoe 


530 

“ O ! he received him,” answered the Earl, “ as if they 
had met after a hunting party; and, pointing to me and 
our men-at-arms, said, ‘ Thou seest, brother, I have some 
angry men with me; thou wert best go to our mother, * 
5 carry her my duteous affection, and abide with her until 
men’s minds are pacified.’ ” 

“ And this was all he said ? ” inquired Ivanhoe ; “ would 
not anyone say that this prince invites men to treason '* 
by his clemency ? ” 

10 “Just,” replied the Earl, “as the man may be said to 
invite death who undertakes to fight a combat, having a 
dangerous wound unhealed.” 

“I forgive thee the jest, Lord Earl,” said Ivanhoe; j 
“ but remember, I hazarded but my own life — Richard, J 
15 the welfare of his kingdom.” 

“ Those,” replied Essex, “ who are specially careless of ■ 
their own welfare are seldom remarkably attentive to 
that of others. But let us haste to the castle, for Rich- ^ 
ard meditates punishing some of the subordinate mem- 1 
20 bers of the conspiracy, though he has pardoned their j| 
principal.” 

From the judicial investigations which followed on this 
occasion, and which are given at length in the Wardour 1 
Manuscript, it appears that Maurice de Bracy escaped * 
25 beyond seas, and went into the service of Philip of France, 1 
while Philip de Malvoisin and his brother Albert, the \ 
preceptor of Templestowe, were executed, although Wal- 
demar Fitzurse, the soul of the conspiracy, escaped with fi 
banishment, and Prince John, for whose behoof it was J| 
30 undertaken, was not even censured by his good-natured 1 
brother. No one, however, pitied the fate of the two f I 
Malvoisins, who only suffered the death which they had 
both well deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, : 
and oppression. 

35 Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was i 
summoned to the court of Richard, which, for the pur- .5 
pose of quieting the counties that had been disturbed 1 
by the ambition of his brother, was then held at York. 
Cedric tushed and pshawed more than once at the mes- 


Ivanhoe 


531 

sage ; but he refused not obedience. In fact, the return 
of Richard had quenched every hope that he had enter- 
tained of restoring a Saxon dynasty in England; for, 
whatever head the Saxons might have made in the event 
of a civil war, it was plain that nothing could be done 
under the undisputed dominion of Richard, popular as 
he was by his personal good qualities and military fame, 
although his administration was willfully careless — now 
too indulgent and now allied to despotism. 

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s re- 
luctant observation that his project for an absolute union 
among the Saxons, by the marriage of Rowena and 
Athelstane, was now completely at an end, by the mutual 
dissent of both parties concerned. This was, indeed, an 
event which, in his ardor for the Saxon cause, he could 
j not have anticipated; and even when the disinclination 
[ of both was broadly and plainly manifested, he could 
scarce bring himself to believe that two Saxons of royal 
descent should scruple, on personal grounds, at an alli- 
ance so necessary for the public weal of the nation. But 
it was not the less certain. Rowena had always ex- 
pressed her repugnance to Athelstane, and now Athel- 
stane was no less plain and positive in proclaiming his 
resolution never to pursue his addresses to the Lady 
| Rowena. Even the natural obstinacy of Cedric sunk 
beneath these obstacles, where he, remaining on the 
point of junction, had the task of dragging a reluctant 
pair up to it, one with each hand. He made, however, 
a last vigorous attack on Athelstane, and he found that 
resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like coun- 
try squires of our own day, in a furious war with the 
clergy. 

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the 
abbot of St. Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of revenge, 
what between the natural indolent kindness of his own 
disposition, what through the prayers of his mother 
Edith, attached, like most ladies (of the period), to the 
clerical order, had terminated in his keeping the abbot 
and his monks in the dungeons of Coningsburgh for 


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Ivanhoe 


532 

three days on a meager diet. For this atrocity the abbot 
menaced him with excommunication, and made out a 
dreadful list of complaints in the bowels and stomach, j 
suffered by himself and his monks, in consequence of the ! 
5 tyrannical and unjust imprisonment they had sustained. 
With this controversy, and with the means he had ji 
adopted to counteract this clerical persecution, Cedric ] 
found the mind of his friend Athelstane so fully occupied* J 
that it had no room for another idea. And when Row- 1 
10 ena’s name was mentioned, the noble Athelstane prayed 
leave to quaff a full goblet to her health, and that she I 
might soon be the bride of his kinsman Wilfred. It was 
a desperate case, therefore. There was obviously no | 
more to be made of Athelstane ; or, as. Wamba expressed 1 
15 it, in a phrase which has descended from Saxon times to 5 
ours, he was a cock that would not fight. 

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination J 
which the lovers desired to come to only two obstacles — ] 
his own obstinacy, and his dislike of the Norman dynasty. 

20 The former feeling gradually gave way before the en- j 
dearments of his ward and the pride which he could not 1 
help nourishing in the fame of his son. Besides, he was j 
not insensible to the honor of allying his own line to 
that of Alfred, when the superior claims of the descend- j 
25 ant of Edward the Confessor were abandoned forever. I 
Cedric’s aversion to the Norman race of kings was also 
much undermined — first, by consideration of the impossi- 
bility of ridding England of the new dynasty, a feeling 
which goes far to create loyalty in the subject to the 
30 king de facto ; and, secondly, by the personal attention 
of King Richard, who delighted in the blunt humor of 
Cedric, and, to use the language of the Wardour Manu- 
script, so dealt with the noble Saxon that, ere he had been 
a guest at court for seven days, he had given his consent 
35 to the marriage of his ward Rowena and his son Wilfred ! 
of Ivanhoe. 

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by 
his father, were celebrated in the most august of tem- 
ples, the noble minster of York. The King himself at- 


Ivanhoe 


533 

tended, and, from the countenance which he afforded on 
this and other occasions to the distressed and hitherto 
degraded Saxons, gave them a safer and more certain 
prospect of attaining their just rights than they could 
reasonably hope from the precarious chance of a civil 
war. The church gave her full solemnities, graced with 
all the splendor which she of Rome knows how to apply 
with such brilliant effect. 

Gurth, gallantly appareled, attended as esquire upon 
his young master, whom he had served so faithfully, and 
the magnanimous Wamba, decorated with a new cap and 
a most gorgeous set of silver bells. Sharers of Wil- 
fred’s dangers and adversity, they remained, as they had 
a right to expect, the partakers of his more prosperous 
career. 

But, besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished 
nuptials were celebrated by the attendance of the high- 
born Normans, as well as Saxons, joined with the uni- 
versal jubilee of the lower orders, that marked the mar- 
riage of two individuals as a pledge of the future peace 
and harmony betwixt two races, which, since that period, 
have been so completely mingled that the distinction has 
become wholly invisible. Cedric lived to see this union 
approximate towards its completion; for, as the two na- 
tions mixed in society and formed intermarriages with 
each other, the Normans abated their scorn, and the 
Saxons were refined from their rusticity. But it was not 
until the reign of Edward the Third that the mixed lan- 
guage, now termed English, was spoken at the court of 
London, and that the hostile distinction of Norman and 
Saxon seems entirely to have disappeared. 

It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal 
that the Lady Rowena was made acquainted by her hand- 
maid Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her 
presence, and solicited that their parley might be without 
witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became curious, 
and ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted, and 
her attendants to withdraw. 

She entered — a noble and commanding figure, the long 


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Ivanhoe 


534 

white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadowing 
rather than concealing the elegance and majesty of her 
shape. Her demeanor was that of respect, unmingled 
by the least shade either of fear or of a wish to propitiate 
5 favor. Rowena was ever ready to acknowledge the 
claims, and attend to the feelings, of others. She arose, 
and would have conducted her lovely visitor to a seat; 
but the stranger looked at Elgitha, and again intimated 
a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena alone. 
10 Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps than, 
to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant 
kneeled on one knee, pressed her hands to her fore- 
head, and bending her head to the ground, in spite of 
Rowena’s resistance, kissed the embroidered hem of her 
15 tunic. 

“ What means this, lady?” said the surprised bride; “ or 
why do you offer to me a deference so unusual ? ” 

“ Because to you. Lady of Ivanhoe,” said Rebecca, 
rising up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her 
20 manner, “ I may lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the 
debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 
I am — forgive the boldness which has offered to you 
the homage of my country — I am the unhappy Jewess 
for whom your husband hazarded his life against such 
25 fearful odds in the tilt-yard of Templestowe.” 

“ Damsel,” said Rowena, “ Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that 
day rendered back but in slight measure your unceasing 
charity towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. 
Speak, is there aught remains in which he or I can serve 
30 thee?” 

“ Nothing,” said Rebecca, calmly, “ unless you will 
transmit to him my grateful farewell.” 

“You leave England, then?” said Rowena, scarce re- 
covering the surprise of this extraordinary visit. 

35 “ I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My fa- 

ther hath a brother high in favor with Mohammed Boabdil, 
King of Grenada : thither we go, secure of peace and pro- 
tection, for the payment of such ransom as the Moslem 
exact from our people.” 


Ivanhoe 


535 

“ And are you not then as well protected in England ? ” 
said Rowena. “My husband has favor with the King; 
the King himself is just and generous.” 

“Lady,” said Rebecca, “I doubt it not; but the people 
of England are a fierce race, quarreling ever with their 
neighbors or among themselves, and ready to plunge the 
sword into the bowels of each other. Such is no safe 
abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is an 
heartless dove; Issachar an over-labored drudge, which 
stoops between two burdens. Not in a land of war and 
blood, surrounded by hostile neighbors, and distracted by 
internal factions, can Israel hope to rest during her wan- 
derings.” 

“ But you, maiden,” said Rowena — “ you surely can 
have nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of 
Ivanhoe,” she continued, rising with enthusiasm — “ she 
can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon and 
Norman will contend who shall most do her honor.” 

“ Thy speech is fair, lady,” said Rebecca, “ and thy 
purpose fairer; but it may not be — there is a gulf be- 
twixt us. Our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either 
to pass over it. Farewell; yet, ere I go, indulge me one 
request. The bridal veil hangs over thy face; deign to 
raise it, and let me see the features of which fame speaks 
so highly.” 

“ They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said 
Rowena ; “ but, expecting the same from my visitant, I 
remove the veil.” 

She took it off accordingly; and, partly from the con- 
sciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed 
so intensely that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom were suf- 
fused with crimson. Rebecca blushed also; but it was a 
momentary feeling, and, mastered by higher emotions, 
passed slowly from her features like the crimson cloud 
which changes color when the sun sinks beneath the 
horizon. 

“ Lady,” she said, “ the countenance you have deigned 
to show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There 
reigns in it gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


Ivanhoe 


536 

the world’s pride or vanities may mix with an expression 
so lovely, how should we chide that which is of earth for 
bearing some color of its original? Long, long will I 
remember your features, and bless God that I leave my 
5 noble deliverer united with — ” 

She stopped short — her eyes filled with tears. She 
hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxious in- 
quiries of Rowena — “ I am well, lady — well. But my 
heart swells when I think of Torquilstone and the lists 
10 of Templestowe. Farewell. One, the most trifling, part 
of my duty remains undischarged. Accept this casket; 
startle not at its contents.” 

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and per- 
ceived a carcanet, or necklace, with ear-jewels, of dia- 
15 monds, which were obviously of immense value. 

“ It is impossible,” she said, tendering back the casket. 
“ I dare not accept a gift of such consequence.” 

“Yet keep it, lady,” returned Rebecca. “You have 
power, rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the 
20 source both of our strength and weakness; the value of 
these toys, ten times multiplied, would not influence half 
so much as your slightest wish. To you, therefore, the 
gift is of little value; and to me, what I part with is of 
much less. Let me not think you deem so wretchedly ill 
25 of my nation as your commons believe. Think ye that 
I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above my lib- 
erty? or that my father values them in comparison to the 
honor of his only child? Accept them, lady — to me they 
are valueless. I will never wear jewels more.” 

30 ' “You are then unhappy ! ” said Rowena, struck with 
the manner in which Rebecca uttered the last words. 
“ O, remain with us ; the counsel of holy men will wean 
you from your erring law, and I will be a sister to 
you.” 

35 “No, lady,” answered Rebecca, the same calm melan- 
choly reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features; 
“ that may not be. I may not change the faith of my 
fathers like a garment unsuited to the climate in which 
I seek to dwell ; and unhappy, lady, I will not be, He tq 


Ivanhoe 


537 

whom I dedicate my future life will be my comforter, if 
I do His will.” 

“ Have you then convents, to one of which you mean 
to retire ? ” asked Rowena. 

I “ No, lady,” said the Jewess; “but among our people, 5 
since the time of Abraham downwards, have been women 
! who have devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their 
actions to works of kindness to men — tending the sick, 
feeding the hungry, and relieving the distressed. Among 
these will Rebecca be numbered. Say this to thy lord, 10 
should he chance to inquire after the fate of her whose 
life he saved.” 

There was an involuntary tremor on Rebecca’s voice, 
and a tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more 
than she would willingly have expressed. She hastened 15 
i to bid Rowena adieu. 

“ Farewell,” she said. “ May He who made both Jew 
and Christian shower down on you His choicest blessings ! 

|j The bark that wafts us hence will be under weigh ere we 
| can reach the port.” 20 

f She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena sur- 
prised as if a vision had passed before her. The fair 
Saxon related the singular conference to her husband, on 
whose mind it made a deep impression. He lived long 
and happily with Rowena, for they were attached to each 25 
[ other by the bonds of early affection, and they loved each 
other the more from the recollection of the obstacles which 
had impeded their union. Yet it would be inquiring too 
curiously to ask whether the recollection of Rebecca’s 
beauty and magnanimity did not recur to his mind more 30 
i frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred might alto- 
gether have approved. 

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, 
and was graced with farther marks of the royal favor. 

He might have risen still higher but for the premature 35 
death of the heroic Coeur-de-Lion, before the Castle of 
Chaluz, near Limoges. With the life of a generous, but 
rash and romantic, monarch perished all the projects 
which his ambition and his generosity had formed; to 


Ivanhoe 


538 

whom may be applied, with a slight alteration, the lines 
composed by Johnson for Charles of Sweden — 

His fate was destined to a foreign strand, 

A petty fortress and an “ humble ” hand ; 

He left, the name at which the world grew pale. 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 


NOTES AND COMMENT 



NOTES AND COMMENT 


The explanatory notes to each chapter are followed by questions and 
comment. Unusual words and phrases, when not explained in the notes, 
may be found in the glossary, which includes also the translation of 
foreign expressions. Names of places may be looked up on the map. 
Heavy numerals refer to pages; light ones to lines. 

CHAPTER I 

This opening chapter has been much admired for the vivid 
way in which the social condition of the period is portrayed. 
The conversation between Gurth and Wamba is often quoted 
as an illustration of how language records the history of so- 
ciety. The lowliest condition of the subject Saxons is here 
described in the persons of the servants. 

i, 8. Dragon of Wantley. There is a humorous ballad in 
Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, concerning this 
fictitious dragon. It was finally overcome by a hero who wore 
spiked armor, and who killed it by kicking it in the mouth, its 
only vulnerable part. “Wantley” is a corruption of “ Warn- 
cliffe.” 

i, io. The Civil Wars of the Roses. These were the wars 
between the rival houses of York and Lancaster in the fif- 
teenth century. 

i, 15. Richard I, called the Lion Heart, reigned 1189-1199. 
He was held a captive in Austria from December, 1192 to 
January, 1194. Richard was the first of the Normans to be 
received with full-hearted admiration by the English. Long 
after his death he was celebrated in ballads and romances as 
the national hero. He owed his greatness, however, chiefly 
to his romantic adventures, and to his wonderful prowess as 
a fighter, rather than to any valuable service performed for 
the country which he governed. The origin of his surname 
is as follows: While he was in prison in Austria, the king 
who held him captive sent a lion into his dungeon to devour 

541 


542 


Notes and Comment 


him. The doughty Richard, nothing daunted, thrust his bare 
hand down the beast’s mouth, and plucked out the lion’s heart. 
This feat so astounded his captors that they gave him the 
nickname Cceur-de-Lion, or the Lion Heart. 

1, 21. Stephen reigned 1135-1154; Henry II, 1154-1189. 

2, 34. The Norman Conquest occurred in 1066, when Duke 
William of Normandy, asserting that the English throne was 
his by royal promise of Edward the Confessor, defeated Har- 
old at the battle of Hastings. 

4, 6. William II, or William Rufus, reigned 1087-1100; 
Edward III, 1327-1377. 

4, 34. Druidical superstitions: the religion of the ancient 
Britons, who inhabited the island at the time of the Roman 
occupation. 

5, 10. West Riding, East Riding, and North Riding are the 
three divisions of Yorkshire. 

7, 17. Harlequin: a comic actor in pantomime, whose humor 
consisted chiefly in buffoonery and horse-play. 

8, 23. The Ranger of the Forest: an officer whose duties 
were to see that the Forest Laws were obeyed. The disabling 
of dogs referred to here was called lawing, and was consid- 
ered necessary to keep the dogs from chasing the deer. 

9, 28, 29. Mynheer Calf, Monsieur de Veau: “Mr. Calf, 
Mr. Veal.” 

10, 31. Oberon: king of the fairies. He figures in Shake- 
speare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. 

11, 5. Quarter-staff: a weapon about six feet and a half 
long, which the manipulator grasped in the middle with one 
hand and, by shifting the position of the hold with the other, 
parried and dealt blows with considerable skill. 

11, 6. Eumaeus: the swine-herd in the Odyssey , noted for 
his fidelity to his master. He was the first to recognize Odys- 
seus (Ulysses) upon the king’s return to Ithaca from his wan- 
derings after the fall of Troy. 

questions 

What is the setting of the story in time and place? (Con- 
sult map.) Describe the dress of Gurth and Wamba. What 
words are mentioned by the servants as showing the relative 
position of the Norman and Saxon races? Can you add to 
the list of words? How are we prepared at the end of the 
chapter to receive new characters? 


Notes and Comment 


543 


CHAPTER II 

In this chapter, two typical representatives of the ruling 
Normans are described, in contrast with the Saxons Gurth 
and Wamba of chapter one. 

12, 14. A Cistercian Monk was a member of the famous 
order of Cistercians founded in France, 1098. The order was 
designed to correct certain abuses into which the Benedictines, 
the parent order, had fallen. 

14, 34. The four orders of monks: the Dominicans, the 
Franciscans, the Augustinians, or Austins, and the Carmelites. 

16, 7. Saracens: the Mohammedans, against whom the Cru- 
sades were directed. 

19, 33. Demivolte: a half-turn, executed by the horse with 
his fore-legs raised. 

20, 19, 20. Knights Templars: an order half religious, half 
military, established at Jerusalem in the twelfth century, 
whose chief purpose was the protection of pilgrims in the 
Holy Land. The name is derived from the so-called Temple 
of Solomon, the head-quarters of the Knights. The order ex- 
isted from 1128 to 1312, when it was suppressed by the Coun- 
cil of Vienne because of its heresy and immorality. Bois- 
Guilbert illustrates the corrupt state into which the order had 
fallen. In chapters xxxv and xxxvi the condition is admir- 
ably described. 

21, 32. Odin: an ancient deity of the Teutonic peoples. 

22, 12. Heptarchy: a confederation of the seven Anglo- 
Saxon kingdoms — Wessex, Sussex, Essex, Kent, East Anglia, 
Mercia, and Northumberland. 

22, 34. Houris of old Mahound’s paradise: beautiful dam- 
sels who people paradise, according to the teaching of Mo- 
hammed. 

23, 33- Hamet and Abdalla: names of two of the Tem- 
plar’s Saracen slaves. 

25, 8. Palmer: a pilgrim to the Holy Land; so called be- 
cause he brought home with him a palm branch as evidence of 
his pilgrimage. 

questions 

Describe minutely the dress and personal appearance of the 
Prior; of the Templar. Recount the conversation between 
these men and Gurth and Wamba. What wager do the Nor- 


544 


Notes and Comment 


mans make? How did the Palmer know the paths through 
the woods? Why did Wamba try to mislead the Normans, 
and why did the Palmer lead them aright? 


CHAPTER III 

28, 29. The Saxon title of honor. The allusion is to 
“ Lord ” and “ Lady.” Lord was in Anglo-Saxon hlaford, 
“ divider of bread ” ; lady was hleefdige, the feminine form. 

32, 1. The Curfew-bell was rung as a signal that all fires 
should be covered for the night, and all lights be put out. 
It was established by William the Conqueror as a means of 
holding the Saxons in subjection, and also as a precautionary 
measure against destructive fires. 

33, 15. Hership: pillage, such as the raiding of cattle. 

34, 36-38. Mead: a fermented drink sweetened with honey; 
morat was made of honey flavored with the juice of mul- 
berries; pigment was composed of highly spiced wine and 
honey. 

35, 12-13. Alfred reigned 871-901. 

QUESTIONS 

Describe in detail the hall of Cedric, and the arrangement 
of the table. Describe Cedric’s dress and personal appearance. 
Who was Rowena ? Why was she especially interested in 
news from Palestine? In what connection is Cedric’s son 
mentioned ? 


CHAPTER IV 

37, 13. Cockle-shells like the palm branch were evidence 
of the Holy Pilgrimage. 

39, 24. Bow-hand of justice: the left side, hence the wrong 
side; unjust. 

39, 38. Disforested in terms of the great Forest Charter. 

Disforested means freed from the forest laws, and thrown 
open to the people. The Charter referred to was not granted 
till 1215. 

43, 11. Wassail is the Old English phrase Wees heel, “To 
your Health ! ” the usual formula for a drinking-toast. 

43, 11-12. Rowena . . . her namesake. Rowena was 


Notes and Comment 


545 

the name of the wife of Vortigern, a British king of the fifth 
century. 

43> 25. Saladin, sultan of Egypt and Syria, lived 1137-1193. 
He fought against the Christian occupation of Palestine. 
King Richard distinguished himself in battle against him, and 
secured a three years’ truce in 1192. He is prominent in 
Scott’s The Talisman. 


QUESTIONS 

Describe Cedric’s reception of his guests; his treatment of 
Gurth and Wamba. What was the effect of Rowena’s late 
arrival at the banquet? Who won the wager? 


CHAPTER V 

45, 23. Moslems: Mussulmans, Mohammedans. 

46, 1. Termagaunt: a god, or idol, supposed in the Middle 
Ages to be worshipped by the Mohammedans. 

48, 26. Sir Tristrem: a famous knight of the old romances, 
reputed author of many of the Norman-French terms used 
in hunting. He is also mentioned in chapter xxxiv. 

48, 38. The day of the Holy Standard: a famous battle 
fought at Northallerton, Yorkshire, in 1138. The English 
barons defeated the Scottish invaders. 

49, 23. Knights Hospitallers, or Knights of St. John, were 
rivals of the Templars. This order was also founded at Jeru- 
salem in the twelfth century. It still exists as a charitable 
organization. 

50, 10. Acre: a sea-port town in Palestine captured by the 
Crusaders in 1191, and afterwards occupied by the Knights of 
St. John, who renamed the place St. John-de-Acre, in honor 
of their order. 

54, 21-22. Exchequer of the Jews. “ In those days the 
Jews were subjected to an exchequer especially dedicated to 
that purpose, and which laid upon them the most exorbitant 
impositions.” — Scott. An exchequer was a special court deal- 
ing with matters of revenue. 

QUESTIONS 

Note how the Jew is received by each of the persons pres- 
ent. Why is the Palmer more tolerant than the others? Re- 


Notes and Comment 


546 

count the events of the tournament mentioned as having taken 
place in Palestine. Recount the quarrel of the Templar and 
the Palmer, stating the challenge, and describing the sureties. 
Whither were the guests bound? 


CHAPTER VI 

56, 19. Solere chamber: an upper chamber, open to the 
sun. 

56, 25. Our Lady’s benison: the blessing of the Virgin 
Mary. 

QUESTIONS 

Recount the conversation between the Palmer and Rowena. 
Why did the Palmer think it necessary to warn Isaac ? What 
was Isaac dreaming of? Why? How did the Palmer secure 
obedience from Gurth? Trace the journey of the Palmer and 
Isaac. How did Isaac reward the Palmer? 


CHAPTER VII 

It is important, upon reading this chapter, to get well in J 
mind the political situation in England at the time of the ? 
story. See Introduction, pages xix-xx; and read in any good j, 
English History the account of the reign of Richard I. 

72, 7. Subaltern oppression: i. e., oppression at the hands j 
of those subordinates who had usurped the rights of the ab- ; 
sent king. 

78, 21. Lincoln green: green cloth dyed at Lincoln, in j 
Yorkshire. 

79, 4. Out-heroding: out-doing, exceeding. The word is } 
coined in allusion to the character of Herod in the old miracle ; 
plays, who was always a great ranter. 

81, 36. Canticles: The Song of Solomon. 

82, 39. Athelstane the Unready. The allusion is probably 
to Ethelred the Unready, who ruled 979-1016. 

84, 19. Wat Tyrrel’s mark. One Wat Tyrrel is said to 
have killed William Rufus (William II) with an arrow, while 
they were hunting in the forest. 


Notes and Comment 


547 


QUESTIONS 

Name John’s chief adherents. Describe the lists in detail. 
Describe the entry of Prince John. Why did he interest him- 
self in procuring a seat for Isaac? How was Rebecca 
dressed? Who was Athelstane? Relate Wamba’s attempts at 
merry-making. 

CHAPTER VIII 

90, 10. Largesse: a request for donations. The word means 
literally a large, or generous gift. 

90, 39. Wardour Manuscript: the imaginary old manu- 
script in “ Black Letter ” (Old English characters), from which 
Scott pretends to have drawn the facts of his story. See 
Introduction, page xvii. 

91, 3. A contemporary poet: Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
Scott quotes inaccurately from memory the closing lines of 
Coleridge’s The Knight’s Tomb: 

“ The Knight’s bones are dust, 

And his good sword rust ; — 

His soul is with the saints, I trust.” 

QUESTIONS 

State the laws of the tournament. What was the Queen of 
Love and Beauty? Who are the challengers? Describe the 
first four encounters. How is our interest aroused in the Dis- 
: inherited Knight? Describe his five combats. Is there any- 
thing improbable in his achievements? 

CHAPTER IX 

102, 8. Over God’s forbode: “God .Forbid!” Forbode 
means literally a forbidding command. 

QUESTIONS 

Who were the Marshalls ? What were some of the guesses 
as to the identity of the Disinherited Knight? What was the 
victor’s prize? Why did John wish the Lady Alicia chosen 
Queen? What was the effect on the people of the choice of 
Rowena? How does a certain “yeoman” figure in this chap- 
ter? Where was he mentioned before? 


548 


Notes and Comment 


CHAPTER X 

120, 14. Clipt within the ring: mutilated, hence not pos- 
sessing full value. 

120, 32. Tale: number, count. Telling means counting. A 
teller in a bank is one who counts the money. 

121, 25. Wilds of Germany. The Angles, Saxons, and 
Jutes, the ancestors of the English, dwelt originally in the 
northern parts of Germany. 

122, 24. Guild: a group of freemen of similar occupations 
organized for mutual protection ; a sort of trade-union. 

questions 

Had you guessed before the beginning of this chapter that 
the Disinherited Knight and the Palmer were the same? Do 
you notice any change in the character of Gurth? Relate how 
he outwitted the Jew. Why did Rebecca pay back the 
zecchins? 


CHAPTER XI 

124, 6. St. Nicholas’s Clerks: thieves, so called because St. 
Nicholas was the patron saint of thieves. 

128, 38. Toll-dish: a dish for measuring the miller’s toll, or 
share of the grain; here used, of course, to refer facetiously 
to the miller’s head. 


QUESTIONS 

Describe Gurth’s nocturnal adventure. Who were the out- 
laws? Who was their captain? What is noteworthy about 
their actions? Their discipline? 


CHAPTER XII 

137, 26. Beau-seant: “the name of the Templars’ banner, 
which was half black, half white, to intimate, it is said, that 
they were candid and fair toward Christians, but black and 
terrible towards infidels.” — Scott. 

QUESTIONS 

What is a melee ? State the laws of the second day’s tour- 
nament. Who were the leaders on each side? Why did 


Notes and Comment 


549 


Athelstane fight on the side of the Normans? Describe the 
deeds of the Black Sluggard throughout the combat. Is any 
hint given as to his identity? Who is the Disinherited Knight? 
Had you guessed his identity before ? Trace all allusions to 
Cedric’s son from the first chapter. 


CHAPTER XIII 

*49> 13- Fleurs-de-lis: lilies, the royal emblem of France. 

I 5 2 > I 4~ I 5- Shot at rovers: a shot in the air, or at random. 

J 54> 7 - Clout: a bit of white cloth to mark the center of 
the target. 

155, 2. King Arthur’s round table: the huge circular table 
at which the famous legendary king feasted with his knights. 
Tennyson’s Idylls of the King are based on the old romances 
concerning the king and his knights. 

QUESTIONS 

What was the effect on John and his followers of the dis- 
covery of Ivanhoe? Why does Scott have the letter concern- 
ing Richard’s escape handed to John just at this time? Where 
had Richard been? Who is Locksley? Where have you 
heard of him before? Describe his archery contest with 
Hubert. Why were the games cut short? 


CHAPTER XIV 

With this chapter ends the first of the three stories in the 
plot of Ivanhoe , — the adventures of Wilfred and the Black 
Knight at the tournament. Chapters xv-xx tell of the 
events which happened while the characters were assembling 
at the Castle of Torquilstone. 

158, 16. Henry II reigned 1154-1189. 

159, 39- Simnel-bread: a rich sweet cake, stuffed with 
plums, etc. It was sometimes used as an offering on Mid- 
lent Sunday. Wastel: a cake made of fine white flour. 

160, 38. Beccaficoes: small singing-birds whose flesh was 
much prized for its delicacy. 

163, 25. Nidering. “ There was nothing accosted so ig- 
nominious among the Saxons as to merit this disgraceful 
epithet. Even William the Conqueror, hated as he was by 


55 ° 


Notes and Comment 


them, contrived to draw a considerable army of Anglo-Saxons 
to his standard, by threatening to stigmatize those who stayed 
at home, as nidering .” — Scott. 

QUESTIONS 

Where was Prince John’s banquet mentioned previously? 
Why did he invite the Saxons? Why did they accept? Why 
did Rowena not attend? Where was she during the feast? 
What insults did the Normans offer the Saxons? What was 
Cedric’s toast? What anecdote is told to illustrate John’s 
“fickleness of temper”? Why did Cedric disinherit his son? 
Why was John going to York? Who were “all the sons of 
Henry the Second”? 


CHAPTER XV 

1 71, 12. Free Companions. De Bracy was at the head of 
an independent military company whose services were offered 
everywhere for hire. 

171, 18. After the manner of the tribe of Benjamin. 

This story of De Bracy is meant to be a humorous mixture 
of Hebrew, Christian, and Roman legends and customs. The 
basis of the story is, of course, the ancient Roman legend of 
the Rape of the Sabines. 


QUESTIONS 

Analyze the character of Waldemar Fitzurse. Describe his 
efforts to “ reunite and combine the scattered members of 
Prince John’s cabal.” Give the details of the plot of De 
Bracy and Bois-Guilbert. When did De Bracy first see 
Rowena? Discuss De Bracy’s estimate of John’s character 
(page 171, lines 5-9). 


CHAPTER XVI 

This and the following chapter introduce a comic scene as 
a sort of interlude between the events of the tournament and 
the siege of Torquilstone soon to follow. 

183, 29. Clerk meant an educated man or student; hence, 
as here, monk or priest, because in general only the clergy 
were educated. 


Notes and Comment 


55i 


188, 23. Harp-strings tinkle. Scott has this note at the 
end of the chapter : — “ The Jolly Hermit. All readers, how- 
ever slightly acquainted with black letter, must recognize in 
the Clerk of Copmanhurst, Friar Tuck, the buxom Confessor 
of Robin Hood’s gang, the Curtal friar of Fountain’s Abbey.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

189, 19. Sirvente. “ The realm of France, it is well known, 
was divided betwixt the Norman and Teutonic race, who 
spoke the language in which the word “ yes ” is pronounced as 
oui, and the inhabitants of the southern regions, whose speech, 
bearing some affinity to the Italian, pronounced the same word 
oc. The poets of the former race were called minstrels, and 
their poems lays; those of the latter were termed troubadours, 
and their compositions called sirventes, and other names. 
Richard, a professed admirer of the joyous science in all its 
branches, could imitate either the minstrel or troubadour. It 
is less likely that he should have been able to compose or 
sing an English ballad ; yet so much do we wish to assimilate 
him of the Lion Heart to the band of warriors whom he led, 
that the anachronism, if there be one, may readily be for- 
given.” — Scott. 

190, 10. Glee-man: minstrel. 

193, 37- St. Dunstan. The allusion is to the legend that 
St. Dunstan assaulted the devil with a pair of tongs, as the 
result of a prolonged temptation. 

194, 5. Come cut and long tail: i. e., come devils of every 
kind. 

194, 14. Ariosto: a famous Italian writer of romances born 
in 1474- 


questions 

(On this and the preceding chapter.) 

Notice how amusingly and cleverly the Knight forces the 
hermit to reveal his hypocrisy. Who is the Clerk of Copman- 
hurst? What connection has he with the outlaws of chapter 
xi? Note carefully this scene of revelry, as it will appear 
significant when the Knight’s identity is revealed. 


552 


Notes and Comment 


CHAPTER XVIII 

196, 28. Glaive: a curved sharp blade fastened to a pole, 
somewhat like a halberd. Brown-bill: a pike, or spear-like 
weapon; the same as bill. 

197, 32. A rere-supper. “ A rere-supper was a night-meal, 
and sometimes signified a collation which was given at a late 
hour, after the regular supper had made its appearance.” — 
Scott. 

203, 7. Hotspur: an impulsive warrior in Shakespeare’s 
Henry IV, Part I. 

QUESTIONS 

Account for Cedric’s varying emotions at the discovery of 
Ivanhoe. What became of Ivanhoe after the tournament? 
What instance of Cedric’s fierce temper is there in this chap- 
ter? Outline Cedric’s political plans. When did Rowena get 
back into Cedric’s company after the banquet? Whither is 
the company bound? Recount Gurth’s part in the chapter. 

CHAPTER XIX 

205, 22. Horse-litter: a vehicle or covered couch, borne be- 
tween two horses. 

212, 4. Give him leg-bail: i. e. run away. 

QUESTIONS 

How do Isaac and his party become united with the train 
of Cedric? Who is in the litter? Why does Scott have 
Gurth escape, and, later, Wamba? Where was the capture 
here consummated first planned? Name the persons cap- 
tured and account for the presence of each in the band. Does 
it seem improbable that they should all be together at this 
time and place? Discuss Cedric’s valor. Whither did the 
captors convey their prisoners? 

CHAPTER XX 

214, 23. Allan-a-Dale appears frequently in the old ballads. 
He was in love with a maiden who was being forced to wed 
an old knight. Robin Hood rescued her from this match, 
and gave her to Allan-a-Dale. 


Notes and Comment 


553 


215, 1. Watling Street was one of the old roads through 
England built by the Romans. It began at Dover, and ran 
northward through London to Chester and York. 

215, 31. Black sanctus. The sanctus is an anthem begin- 
ning Sanctus, sanctus , sanctus (“Holy, holy, holy”) ; a black 
sanctus is therefore a burlesque hymn, or a drinking-song. 

218, 31. Truss my points: tie the points of lace together 
by which the doublet was fastened. 

QUESTIONS 

Of the persons mentioned by the Captain in the first few 
paragraphs, which have we heard of before? Where? Do 
you see now why Scott conducted the Knight to the hermit’s 
cell? Why is Locksley interested in rescuing the prisoners? 
Note the skill with which, in this and the preceding chapter, 
measures for rescue are begun immediately after the capture. 


CHAPTER XXI 

This is the first of thirteen chapters describing the capture 
and sacking of the Castle of Torquilstone, and the division 
of the spoils among the victors. These thirteen chapters com- 
prise the second story in the plot. 

228, 20. The valiant and unfortunate Harold was killed 
in 10 66. As the events of Ivanhoe are supposed to have taken 
place in 1194 the anecdote is manifestly impossible, unless told 
of Cedric’s grandfather, instead of his father. 

230, 39- Hardicanute reigned 1040-1042. He was noted as 
a great glutton and heavy drinker. 

QUESTIONS 

What do each of the following hope to gain by the capture : 
De Bracy, the Templar, Front de Bceuf? Why does De 
Bracy alter his plan? What does Cedric think is the object 
of the capture? Do the captors yet know who is in the litter? 
Tell Cedric’s anecdote of Torquil Wolfganger. Where are 
each of the prisoners confined? Contrast the conduct of 
Cedric and Athelstane in their cell. Give Athelstane’s chal- 
lenge. By what device is the chapter brought to a close? 


554 


Notes and Comment 


CHAPTER XXII 

240, 29. Talmud: a book containing the whole body of the 
Jewish laws and customs not comprised in the Pentateuch. 

242, 39. Bugle, twice winded. At the end of the preced- 
ing chapter, the bugle was sounded three times. This is evi- 
dently an oversight on Scott’s part. 

QUESTIONS 

At what time do the events of this chapter occur relative to 
the preceding? Give the details of the interview between 
Isaac and Front de Bceuf. Was Isaac’s extreme terror jus- 
tified? What redeeming qualities of Isaac are here brought 
out? 


CHAPTER XXIII 

246, 31. Crowder: player upon the “crowd,” an early form 
of violin. 

251, 17. Henry: Robert Henry, author of a History of 
Great Britain. 

252, 29. Eadmer: a monkish historian of the twelfth cen- 
tury. 

252, 32. Wardour MS. See Introduction, p. xvii. 

QUESTIONS 

Describe Rowena’s apartment. What bit of information 
does De Bracy possess which gives him influence over Row- 
ena? Why does he withhold this information from Front 
de Bceuf? Do you think the last four paragraphs of com- 
ment on the social condition of the times at all necessary to 
justify De Bracy’s actions? 

CHAPTER XXIV 

This scene occurred simultaneously with the three preced- 
ing. It is best studied as a contrast to the foregoing chapter. 

256, 3. Damocles, having expressed envy at the pleasures 
of kings, was invited to a royal feast by Dionysius of Syra- 
cuse. He received a vivid impression of the true nature of 
kingly joys, upon seeing a sword suspended above his head 
by a single hair. 


Notes and Comment 


55 5 


259, io. Languedoc: a province of Southern France. 

259, 2 7 - Ecclesiastica: a feminine form of Ecclesiasticus, 
the name of one of the Apocryphal Books of the Bible. 
Scott probably intended the word to mean “ Preacher ” ; com- 
pare “ Ecclesiastes, or the Preacher.” 

QUESTIONS 

Contrast the attitude of Rowena and Rebecca toward their 
captors; the attitude of De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert toward 
their captives. Which is the stronger, more admirable 
woman, which the less despicable man? Tell the story of 
Dame Urfried. Recount the story of Bois-Guilbert and his 
ambitious schemes. 


CHAPTER XXV 

266, 20. Niobe: noted, in ancient mythology, for her grief 
over the loss of her children. She was not, of course, a 
Christian saint. 

266, 24. Apollyon: the angel of the bottomless pit in The 
Revelation. He is routed in a personal encounter with Chris- 
tian in Bunyan’s Pilgrim's Progress. 

269, 27. Cartel: a letter of defiance. 

QUESTIONS 

What do we now learn was the cause of the bugle call that 
interrupted the interviews? Why was the letter given to the 
Templar to read ? What was its content ? Is it intended to be 
humorous ? Who signed it ? What was the reply to the chal- 
lenge ? Who composed the rescuing party ? 


CHAPTER XXVI 

276, 6. The Order of St. Francis was founded by Francis 
of Assisi in 1208. Members of the order were called Fran- 
ciscans, Minorites, or Grey Friars. 

276, 18. Gray-goose shaft: arrow. 

282, 36-37. Ifrin was the realm of the dead in ancient Teu- 
tonic mythology; Odin and Thor were deities. 


556 


Notes and Comment 


questions 

Note here a new side to Wamba’s character. Is it entirely 
unexpected from what we knew of him before? Describe the 
effect of Wamba’s sacrifice on Cedric and Athelstane. How 
does Wamba explain his knowledge of Latin? Has he 
maintained his reputation thus far in the story of being half- 
witted? Are his attempts at wit here out of place? What is 
Scott’s purpose in having Rebecca request the supposed priest 
to visit the wounded man, and in Cedric’s refusal? 

CHAPTER XXVII 

288, 19. The Sainted Edward: Edward the Confessor 
(reigned, 1042-1066), so called because of his piety. Accord- 
ing to tradition he had the power of curing scrofula by touch- 
ing the diseased parts. The affliction for this reason was 
called “ The King’s Evil.” 

290, 29. Scallop-shell of Compostella: a shell worn by 
pilgrims from the shrine of St. James at Compostella in Spain. 

290, 35. Rollo: the famous viking who founded the Nor- 
man realm in France. 

298, 28. Witenagemotes: the popular assemblies, or parlia- 
ments, of the Anglo-Saxons. 

300, 33. Belial: Satan. 

301, 34. Mantelets and pavisses. “ Mantelets were tempo- 
rary and movable defenses formed of planks, under cover of 
which the assailants advanced to the attack of fortified places 
of old. Pavisses were a species of large shields covering the 
whole person, employed on the same occasions.” — Scott. 

302, 21. Bolts. “ The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted 
to the cross-bow, as that of the long-bow was called a shaft. 
Hence the English proverb — ‘ I will either make a shaft or 
a bolt of it,’ signifying a determination to make one use or 
other of the thing spoken of.” — Scott. 

302, 22. Banner with the old bull’s head. The device is 
derived from the name Front de Boeuf, which signifies in Old 
French “ Bull’s Head.” 


QUESTIONS 

Note three distinct points of interest in this chapter. Relate 
Cedric’s adventures from the time he exchanged garments 


Notes and Comment 


557 


with Wamba until he joined the besiegers. Detail Ulrica’s 
plan to aid the besiegers. Show that De Bracy’s conduct and 
conversation in this chapter are in keeping with his character 
as previously portrayed. What were the terms of the nego- 
tiation for ransom? What great disappointment does Front 
de Bceuf have? Give Front de Bceuf’s orders for the de- 
fense of the Castle. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

304, 17. Hacqueton: a protecting jacket worn beneath the 
armor. 

310, 15. Caftan’d: provided with a caftan, a long flowing 
garment of Turkish origin. 

316, 8. Juvenal: a Roman poet of the first century. 

318, 27. Arblasts. “ The arblast was a cross-bow, the 
windlace the machine used in bending that weapon, and the 
quarrell, so called from its square or diamond-shaped head, 
was the bolt adapted to it.” — Scott. 

QUESTIONS 

Is this long explanation of Tiow Ivanhoe came into Isaac’s 
company necessary at all? If so, should it have come earlier? 
How did Rebecca persuade her father to aid Ivanhoe? What 
were her motives? How is Ivanhoe’s prejudice against the 
Jews shown? Is this in keeping with his attitude hitherto? 
Is his prejudice less than that shown by the other characters? 
(Review in detail the attitude of Cedric, the Templar, the 
Prior, Front de Boeuf, and Prince John toward the Jews.) 
Where previously was revealed De Bracy’s knowledge of who 
was in the litter? Relate how each of the captives escapes 
from the castle, and tell as far as you can, where each goes or 
is conveyed. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

This is one of the most famous scenes in Scott. It fur- 
nishes an admirable illustration of a scene of action described 
from one point-of-view. 

321, 11, Sacred text: the passage alluded to is Job xxxix: 

19-25. 


558 


Notes and Comment 


323, 17. Fetterlock: a fetter for a horse. Shacklebolt: the 
shackle of a padlock. 

325, 23. Barbican. “ Every Gothic castle and city had, be- 
yond the outer-walls, a fortification composed of palisades, 
called the barriers, which were often the scene of severe skir- 
mishes, as these must necessarily be carried before the walls 
themselves could be approached.” — Scott. 

329, 7. Moloch: a heathen god for whom human beings 
were burnt alive as sacrifices. 

329, 17. Hatchment: the coat-of-arms of a dead person, 
placed above his tomb, or displayed upon the house where he 
lived. 

QUESTIONS 

Why is it better to have the assault described thus by Re- 
becca than to have it described as seen from without the cas- 
tle? What is gained, what is lost, by this device? Describe 
the location of the room from which Rebecca witnessed the 
combat. Give the details of the assault. 

CHAPTER XXX 

333, 4- Order of the Temple of Zion: i. e., the Knights 
Templars. 

333, 32. Parish-butt: a target set up in a churchyard. 

33b, 33. Carmelites: one of the four orders of friars. 

337, 3- Unshriven and unhouseled: without confessing and 
receiving the Last Sacrament. 

questions 

Describe the counsel held by De Bracy and the Templar. 
How was Front de Bceuf wounded? Describe the scene at 
his death-bed. Study Front de Bceuf’s character as por- 
trayed from his first appearance in the story; his cruelty, his 
avarice, his superstition. Has he any good qualities? Com- 
pare him with De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert. What has Ulrica 
done to aid the besiegers? What do you think of her revenge? 

CHAPTER XXXI 

This chapter marks one of the climaxes in the story. The 
Normans have been successful in everything hitherto ; from 
this point they meet nothing but disaster. 


Notes and Comment 


559 


346 , 25. Counterpoise: balancing-weights to assist in rais- 
ing the drawbridge. 

356, 28. Scalds: Scandinavian bards, or poets. 

356, 33 - Fatal Sisters: the three Fates of classic mythology. 
Clotho, the youngest, spun the thread of human life; Lachesis 
twisted it ; Atropos, an aged hag, cut it with her huge shears. 

357 , 2. Sons of the White Dragon. The White Dragon 
was the emblem of the Jutes, who invaded England, led by 
Hengist and Horsa, in 449. 

357 , * 7 - Valhalla: the paradise of the Teutonic mythology, 
whither the souls of slain warriors were borne by the beau- 
tiful Valkyries. 

QUESTIONS 

Describe the brave deeds and achievements of Cedric, the 
Black Knight, Locksley, De Bracy, Athelstane. Account for 
De Bracy’s quick submission to the Black Knight. Do you 
yet know who the Black Knight is? Describe the end of 
Ulrica. 


CHAPTER XXXII 

360, 15. Curtal Friar meant originally the gate-keeper of a 
monastery. 

362, 12. Theow and Esne: “thrall and bondsman.” 

362, 14. Folkfree and Sacless: “freeman and blameless”; 
i. e., a lawful freeman. 

368, 2. Mots. “ The notes upon bugles were anciently 
called mots, and are distinguished in the old treatises on hunt- 
ing, not by musical characters, but by written words.” — Scott. 

370, 4. Sathanas: Satan. 

371, 1. Thunder-dint and levin-fire: thunder and lightning. 

372, 30. I am content to take thy cuff. “ The interchange 
of a cuff with the jolly priest is not entirely out of character 
with Richard I, if the romances read him aright. In the very 
curious romance on the subject of his adventures in the Holy 
Land, and his return from thence, it is recorded how he ex- 
changed a pugilistic favor of this nature, while a prisoner in 
Germany. His opponent was the son of his principal warder, 
and was so imprudent as to give the challenge to this barter 
of buffets. The king stood forth like a true man, and re- 
ceived a blow which staggered him. In requital, having pre- 


560 


Notes and Comment 


viously waxed his hand, a practice unknown, I believe, to 
the gentlemen of the modern fancy, he returned the box on 
the ear with such interest as to kill his antagonist on the spot. 
See, in Ellis’s Specimens of English Romance, that of Cceur- 
de-Lion .” — Scott. 


QUESTIONS 

This and the following chapter are meant to be humorous. 
Point out which incidents are amusing, and which do not 
strike you as being legitimately comic. Describe the division 
of the booty. Discuss the reward of Wamba. What was 
Locksley’s present to the Black Knight? What boon did 
Cedric promise to the Black Knight? Describe De Bracy’s 
departure. Relate the adventure of Isaac and the Clerk of 
Copmanhurst. Why is the Prior of Jorvaulx brought in at 
this point? 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

376, 5. Gymmal ring: a double ring, made of interlocking 
links or chains. 

378, 39- Pyx: the vessel which contains the bread for the 
Holy Communion. 

379, 3- Borrows. “ Borghs, or borrows, signifies pledges. 
Hence our word to borrow because we pledge ourselves to 
restore what is lent.” — Scott. 

387, 19. Hedge-priest: an ignorant priest of irregular life. 

QUESTIONS 

In what circumstances had we before heard of the capture 
of the Prior? What bit of information gave Locksley power 
to make Isaac accede to his demands, and what inclined him 
to be merciful? Discuss the Black Knight in his relations 
with the Clerk of Copmanhurst ; and with Locksley. 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

This chapter serves as transition between the account of 
the capture of Torquilstone, and the story of Rebecca’s trial 
at Templestowe, by recalling our attention to the affairs of 
Prince John and his adherents. 

391, 13. Ahithophel, or Achitophel, the counselor of Absa- 


Notes and Comment 561 

lom at the time of his rebellion from his father David; hence 
any counselor in a similar circumstance. See II Samuel, 
chapters xv, xvi, and xvii. 

393 * 30 - Sir Guy, Sir Bevis. These were mediaeval heroes, 
whose marvelous adventures form the bases of two very pop- 
ular old metrical romances. Sir Guy of Warwick saved the 
Saxons from the Danes by killing the huge giant Colbrand. 

^ Sir Bevis, or Beves, of Hampton had a long and stirring 
career fighting traitors, usurpers, rivals, and dragons. The 
adventures of these heroes may be read in Ellis’s Specimens 
of Early English Metrical Romances (Bohn’s Library, London, 
1848). Guy’s armor is still shown at Warwick Castle, and 
Bevis’s sword Morglay, at Arundel Castle. 

394, 6. Take Sanctuary. Refugees from justice could, 
under the Roman Catholic law, flee to certain churches where 
they might be safe for a time from pursuit and arrest. 

394* 35 - Clifford’s gate. “Clifford’s Tower" was a part of 
York Casfle, built in the reign of Edward I (1272-1307). 

395, 21. Our Uncle Robert: the eldest son of William the 
Conqueror and great-uncle of John and Richard. He was 
imprisoned by his brother Henry I, from 1106 till 1134. 

396, 16. Lancelot de Lac and Sir Tristram: two heroes of 
the old romances. Lancelot was King Arthur’s favorite, the 
pattern of courtesy, but through his guilty love for Queen 
Guinevere, the Round Table was at last broken up. Sir Tris- 
tram, or Tristrem, is renowned for his love of the two Isolts, 
his own wife and the wife of King Mark. A magic love- 
drink was the cause of his passion for the latter. He is cred- 
ited with having invented the Norman hunting terms, being, 
in a sort, the father of the chase. See chapter v. Scott pub- 
lished, in 1804, an edition of the old English romance con- 
cerning this hero. 


QUESTIONS 

• Do you learn in this chapter the identity of the Black 
Knight? Had you known it before? Why was Prince John 
at York? Describe the desperate state of his plans. Does 
his downfall appear to be near at hand? How is John’s 
character further illustrated by his treatment of Fitzurse and 
De Bracy? On what perilous enterprise is Fitzurse sent by 
Prince John? 


562 


Notes and Comment 


CHAPTER XXXV 

The scene for several chapters is at Templestowe. Note, 
as you read, how the interest is worked up to a new climax | 
in chapter xliii. Chapters xxxv-xliv comprise the third story : 
the trial and liberation of Rebecca. 

401, 15, 16. Preceptories, Commanderies. “ The estab- 
lishments of the Knights Templars were called Preceptories, 
and the title of those who presided in the Order was Precep- 
tor; as the principal Knights of St. John were termed Com- 
manders, and their houses Commanderies. But these terms 
were sometimes, it would seem, used indiscriminately.” — 
Scott. 

404. 30. Vair and ermine: kinds of fur. 

412, 9. Aymer, Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis: Aymer, Prior of 
the Holy Monastery of Jorvaulx. 

413, 18. Sigils and periapts: charms and signs used in 
magic. 

QUESTIONS 

What new characters are here introduced? Describe the 
character of the Grand Master. Describe the corrupt state 
of the order of the Templars. Note that this is made more 
striking by contrast with the high ideals of the Grand Master. 
How is Isaac used to bridge the gap between the scenes at 
Torquilstone and at Templestowe? What was the effect of 
Prior Aymer’s letter? Follow the Grand Master’s arguments { 
by which he persuades himself that Rebecca is a sorceress. 
Discuss the Grand Master’s treatment of Isaac. 

. 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

i 

417, 29. Ancient Enemy, the devouring Lion: Satan. See j| 
I Peter, v, 8. 

417, 30. A Talisman: a magical figure by which charms 
were wrought. In Scott’s The Talisman, such a figure plays 
an important part. 

421, 10. In flagrant delict: the very act of committing. 

QUESTIONS 

Who were the two Malvoisins ? Why is the Preceptor so 
anxious to keep Bois-Guilbert faithful to the Order? What ^ 


Notes and Comment 


563 


precautions has the Preceptor taken to insure Rebecca’s con- 
viction ? Note the “scrap of paper,” and be prepared for the 
part it plays later. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

428, 4. Sortilege: the art of divination, or foretelling the 
future by drawing lots. 

43 x » 34- Avoid thee, Sathanas! Depart, Satan! 

QUESTIONS 

Describe the setting for the trial. State the arguments in 
the Grand Master’s opening speech. Summarize the evidence 
against Rebecca. Account for Bois-Guilbert’s conduct during 
the trial. Give Rebecca’s defense in full. Who sent her the 
scroll? What is meant by “demanding a champion”? 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

443, 33. Essoine. “ Essoine signifies excuse, and here re- 
lates to the appellant's privilege of appearing by her champion 
in excuse of her own person, on account of her sex.” — Scott. 

445, 30. Capul. “ Capul, i. e., horse ; in a more limited 
sense, workhorse.” — Scott. 

446, 31. Phlebotomy: blood-letting, formerly practised as 
a cure-all for ailments of every description. 

446, 39. Benoni: a Hebrew word meaning. “ child of sor- 
row”; Rebecca is likewise a Hebrew word meaning “very 
beautiful.” 

QUESTIONS 

Discuss the arrangements for the combat: how many days 
was Rebecca allowed? where was the combat to take place? 
who bore her message? what induced him to do so? Why 
is it difficult to persuade Bois-Guilbert to be the champion of 
the Order? Describe the delivery of the letter. What was 
in it? 

CHAPTER XXXIX 

450, 17. Trump and timbrel: trumpet and drum. 

455* 1 7- Ghostly father: spiritual father, priest. 


564 


Notes and Comment 


462, 5. Exorcisms: prayers or charms for driving away 
evil spirits. 


QUESTIONS 

Contrast this interview between the Templar and Rebecca 
with their former interview at Torquilstone. What was the 
Templar’s purpose in advising her to demand a champion, 
and how was it frustrated? Give his statement of the results 
if he should, and if he should not, appear in the lists. What 
new plan does he propose if she will accept his offer? Why 
does he finally resolve to appear as champion of the Order? 
Note the terrible conflict of passions in Bois-Guilbert’s mind, 
and be prepared for the result of the combat. Note how 
throughout the scenes at Templestowe Rebecca’s personality 
has dominated the situation. 


CHAPTER XL 

465, 14. Lee-gage: the sheltered side; opposed to weather- 
gage. 

483, 11. Vert and venison: the right to cut growing wood 
in the forest and kill the deer. 

QUESTIONS 

Give now any details as to the whereabouts of the pris- 
oners after the fall of Torquilstone which you could not 
furnish at end of chapter xxxi. Trace the steps by which the 
Black Knight and Wamba, Fitzurse and his party, Locksley 
and his men, and Ivanhoe and Gurth are all brought together 
in the forest before the end of the chapter. What instance 
of shrewdness does Wamba show previous to the assault, and 
what of bravery during the attack? Describe the conflict. 
How does the Black Knight punish his assailants? What 
characters hitherto disguised are revealed in this chapter ? 
What is the effect of placing comic and serious scenes so 
close together in the chapter? Enumerate all the encounters 
between Richard and Friar Tuck. Was the King’s demeanor 
throughout consistent, as far as you know, with his historical 
character ? 


Notes and Comment 


565 


CHAPTER XLI 

492, 1, 2. Black-letter garlands: collections of poems and 
ballads printed in old English type. 

494, 1 2. Crowds and rotes. “ The crowth, or crowd, was 
a species of violin. The rote, a sort of guitar, or rather 
hurdy-gurdy, the strings of which were managed by a wheel, 
from which the instrument took its name.”— Scott. [Rota is 
Latin for wheel.] 

QUESTIONS 

Describe the meeting of Richard and Ivanhoe. Why is 
Robin Hood embarrassed when Richard asks for food? By 
what device was the feast broken up? Why was this neces- 
sary? Give Scott’s analysis of Richard’s character. Why 
was Richard going to Coningsburgh? When had he prom- 
ised to go there? Describe the scene in the castle-yard at 
Coningsburgh. 


CHAPTER XLI I 

498, 3. Saint Edmund: i. e., King Edmund, killed by the 
Danes and buried at Bury St. Edmund’s in 870. 

503, 3. Man-sworn: perjured. 

503> 31, 32. Arisen from the dead. “The resuscitation of 
Athelstane has been much criticised, as too violent a breach 
of probability even for a work of such fantastic character. 
It was a tour-de-force , to which the author was compelled to 
have recourse by the vehement entreaties of his friend and 
printer, who was inconsolable on the Saxon being conveyed 
to the tomb.” — Scott. 

505, 9. Oubliette: a vault for the solitary confinement of 
captives. 

509, 10. Truce to: cease. 

510, 33. Skills not: matters not. 

QUESTIONS 

Describe the obsequies of Athelstane as conducted by the 
various groups. What was King Richard’s boon? Discuss 
Cedric’s conduct on learning the identity of Richard and 
Ivanhoe. What does he say about the marriage of Wilfred 
and Rowena? What do you think of the resurrection of 


566 


Notes and Comment 


Athelstane? Recall the scene when he was struck down at J 
Torquilstone. Did you think at the time that he was slain? j 
Why did Scott bring him back to life? Where had Athel- ? 
stane been the last three days? Relate his experiences. Why 1 
does he renounce all claim to Rowena and the English throne ? 1 
With what new surprise does the chapter end? 

CHAPTER XLIII 

512, 29. Familiar spirits: spirits in the form of cats, toads, 
etc., which were supposed to carry out the designs of a witch, ; 
who had acquired such attendants by selling her soul to the < 
Devil. 

514, 13. Sacring-bell : bell rung during celebration of the I 
mass. 

518, 22. Oyez: “Here ye!” the formula employed by the I 
crier upon opening court. It is still so used. 

521, 13. Greek fire: an inextinguishable composition that 
burns under and on water. 

QUESTIONS 

Do you see why the adventures of Richard and of Athel- j 
stane have been told in the last three chapters as an interlude | 
between Rebecca’s trial and the combat? Describe the pro- ] 
cession into the lists. What did Rebecca do when she saw 
the pile of fagots? Discuss Bois-Guilbert’s last appeal to 
Rebecca. Why is the arrival of Ivanhoe delayed until the last * 
moment of the allotted time? Describe his entrance. What 
killed Bois-Guilbert ? In what way were we prepared, in a 
previous chapter, for such manner of death? This is the 1 
last of several climaxes of the story. What were the others?'! 
Is this the most intense in interest? 

CHAPTER XLIV 

533, 28. Edward III reigned 1327-1377. 

537> 37- Chaluz, near Limoges. Green, in his Short His - I 
tory of the English People, chapter ii, section ix, says : — \ 
“ The exchequer was soon drained, and Richard listened \ 
with more than the greed of his race to rumors that a treas- I 
ure had been found in the fields of the Limousin. Twelve • 


Notes and Comment 


567 


knights of gold, seated around a golden table, were the find, 
it was said, of the Lord of Chaluz. Treasure-trove at any 
rate there was, and in the spring of 1199 Richard prowled 
around the walls. But the castle held stubbornly out, till 
the king’s greed passed into savage menace. He would hang 
all, he swore — man, woman, the very child at the breast. In 
the midst of his threats an arrow from the walls struck him 
down. He died as he had lived, owning the wild passion 
which for several years past had kept him from confession 
lest he should be forced to pardon Philip, forgiving with 
kindly generosity the archer who had shot him.” 

QUESTIONS 

What is the purpose of this closing chapter? Notice how, 
though the climax of the tale is reached in the downfall of 
the Templar, further dramatic interest is attained by the excit- 
ing entry of Richard, and his assertion of royal authority. 
Give Scott’s final disposal of each character. 









GLOSSARY 


A 

Abacus, the staff carried by 
the Grand Master of the 
Templars, as his symbol of 
office. 

Abbey-stede, an abbey with 
its grounds. 

Accompts, accounts. 

Agraffe, an ornamental clasp. 

A la rescousse! “to the 
rescue ! ” 

Alchemist, one processing to 
have power to change com- 
mon metals to gold. 

Alembic, a vessel used in 
distilling. 

Amice, a long cloak, or hood. 

An, if ; and if. 

Anathema Maranatha, the 

official curse of the Church. 

Anchoret, hermit. 

Anon, presently; again. 

Apochryphal, not authentic. 

Arber, a hunting term, sig- 
nifying the heart, liver, 
and lungs of a deer. 

Arblast, a kind of crossbow. 

Arrant, notoriously bad. 

Arrets, decrees. 

Asper, a Turkish coin, worth 
about three-fifths of a 
penny. 


Assoilzie, absolve, pardon. 

Auferte malum ex vobis, 
“ remove the evil thing 
from you.” 

Avaunt, begone. 

Ave! “Hail!” used as the 
first word of a prayer to 
the Virgin Mary, as Ave 
Maria. 

B 

Baldric, a girdle passing 
over one shoulder and 
across the breast. 

Ban, to curse. 

Bandeau, a narrow band, or 
fillet. 

Barbed, protected with ar- 
mor. 

Barbican, an outer defense 
for a castle. 

Barret-cap, an ancient flat 
military cap. 

Barriers, a fence enclosing 
the lists ; also, fortifica- 
tions outside the walls of 
a castle. 

Bartisan, an overhanging 
turret or balcony.' 

Basilisk, a serpent. 

Basta! “enough!” 

Beau-seant, the war-cry of 


569 


Glossary 


570 

the Templars. The word 
refers to their banner, 
which was black and white, 
indicating that, though they 
were candid and fair to- 
ward Christians, they could 
be terrible and unrelenting 
toward their enemies, the 
heathen. 

Beaver, the part of the hel- 
met covering the face. 

Beccaficoes, small singing- 
birds, much esteemed for 
' the table. 

Beet, feed (a fire): 

Benedicite, “ bless you.” 

Benedicite, mes fils, “ bless 
you, my sons.” 

Benison, blessing. 

Beshrew, a curse upon you! 

Bewray, betray. 

Biggin, a child’s cap. 

Bill, a spear with a sharp 
edge. 

Black sanctus, a drinking- 
song. 

Blench, shrink from. 

Bodkin, a sharp awl-like in- 
strument. 

Bolt, an arrow for a cross- 
bow. 

Borrows, pledges. 

Boss, an ornamental knob. 

Brake, a thicket. 

Bravado, boasting. 

Brawn, pork, boiled and 
pickled. 

Breviary, the book contain- 
ing the service of the 
Roman Church. 

Brown-bill, (same as bill). 

Bruit, noise, rumor. 


Buckler, a small shield. 

Bull-feast, bull-fight. 

Burghers, townsmen. 

Buskin, a high shoe, protect- 
ing the calf of the leg. 

By’r Lady, by our Lady (the 
Virgin Mary). 

Byzant, a gold coin worth 
about $4. 

C 

Cabal, a small band of po- 
litical conspirators. 

Cabalist, a Jewish mystic, 
possessing power of proph- 
esying. 

Caftan, a long flowing gar- 
ment. 

Cap-a-pie, from head to foot. 

Capul, a work-horse. 

Caracole, to make a half- 
turn. 

Cardecue, an old French sil- 
ver coin worth about a 
franc. 

Cartel, a letter of defiance. 

Casque, a helmet. 

Cassock, a garment worn by 
priests. 

Cast, trick, turn, throw. 

Cavalcade, a procession of 
persons on horseback. 

Certes, certainly. 

Chamfron, armor for the 
head of a horse. 

Circumvallation, a surround- 
ing wall. 

Clarion, a shrill-sounding 
trumpet. 

Cnicht, a servant, or mili- 
tary attendant. 


Glossary 


Collop, a slice. 

Compt, account. 

Confiteor, “ I confess.” 

Congee, a profound bow. 

Corselet, complete armor for 
the body. 

Counterpoise, weights at- 
tached to a drawbridge. 

Cowl, a monk’s hood. 

Credo, “I believe”; the first 
word of the Apostles’ 
Creed. 

Cri de guerre, “war-cry.” 

Crisping-tongs, curling-irons. 

Crosier, a bishop’s staff of 
office. 

Curee, the dogs’ share of the 
spoils of a deer. 

Curtal friar, gate-keeper of 
a monastery. 

✓ 

D 

De Civitate Dei, “ of the 

City of God.” 

De commilitonibus Templi 
in sancta civitate, etc., 
“ concerning the knights of 
the holy order of the Tem- 
ple who associate with aban- 
doned women.” 

De facto, “ in actual fact.” 
De facto king , the reigning 
king. 

De Lectione Literarum, 

“ concerning the reading of 
letters.” 

Demi-courbette, a half-leap, 
executed on horseback. 

Demi-volte, a half-turn, exe- 
cuted by the horse with his 
forelegs raised. 


571 

De osculis fugiendis, “ con- 
cerning the avoiding of 
kisses.” 

De profundis clamavi, “ out 

of the depths have I called.” 
Psalm cxxx. 

Derring-do, desperate cour- 
age. 

Desdichado, “disinherited.” 

Despardieux! “By Heav- 
ens ! ” 

Destrier, a war-horse. 

Deus faciat salvam benign- 
itatem vestram, “ God save 
your reverence.” 

Deus vobiscum, “ God be 
with you.” 

Devoir, duty. 

Doffed, removed. 

Doit, a coin of trifling value. 

Dortour, a dormitory. 

Draff, refuse malt. 

Drink hael, “ I drink to your 
health.” 

E 

Eke, also. 

El Jerrid, a sort of game 
with javelins, played on 
horseback. 

Embrasure, an opening in 
the wall to shoot arrows 
through. 

Emprise, daring adventure. 

En avant! “ forward ! ” 

En croupe, “ behind the sad- 
dle.” 

Epicurean, pleasure-loving. 
From Epicurus, who taught 
that pleasure was the chief 
end of man. 


572 


Glossary 


Epopoeia, an epic poem. 

Equerry, an officer in charge 
of the horses of a noble- 
man. 

Errant, wandering. 

Escutcheon, a shield bearing 
a coat of arms. 

Esplanade, an open space of 
ground. 

Essoine, “ excuse.” 

Estrada, “ a dais,” or slightly 
raised platform. 

Et vobis; quaeso, domine 
reverendissime, etc., “And 
with you ; I beg, most rev- 
erend father, for your 
pity.” 

Even-song, evening service. 

Exceptis excipiendis, “ ex- 
ceptions being excepted.” 

Excommunicabo vos, “ I 
will excommunicate you.” 

Excommunication, expul- 
sion from the Church. 

Exorcism, casting out evil 
spirits. 

Expiry, expiration. 

F 

Faire le moulinet, “play the 
windmill.” 

Faites vos devoirs, preux 
chevaliers, “ Do your duty, 
brave knights.” 

Falcon-ways, after the man- 
ner of a falcon. 

Farriers, blacksmiths. 

Fauns, fabled monsters of 
the woods, half man, half 
goat. 


Fetter-lock, a hobble for a 
horse. 

Fiat voluntas tua, “ thy will 

be done.” 

Fief, an estate granted by the 
king in consideration for 
military service. 

Flambing, basting meat while 
it is roasting. 

Flatlings, flatwise. 

Fleurs-de-lis, “ lilies,” the 
royal emblem of France. 

Folkfree and sacless, “ a 
lawful freeman.” 

Fond, silly. 

Forfend, ward off, forbid. 

Fortalice, a small fort. 

Fox-earths, the hiding-places 
of foxes. 

Franklin, an owner of an 
estate. 

Fructus Temporum, “ Fruit 
of the Times ” (title of a 
book). 

Fustian, a stout, coarse cloth. 
G 

Gaberdine, a loose, upper 
garment worn by Jews. 

Gage, glove, offered as sign 
of a challenge. 

Gage, engage, wager. 

Gare le Corbeau, “ beware 
the raven ! ” 

Gauds, showy ornaments. 

Genuflection, a bending of 
the knee. 

Ghostly, spiritual, religious. 

Glaive, a sword, or kind of 
sharp pike. 


Glossary 


Gleeman, minstrel. 

Gorget, armor for the throat. 

Grace-cup, a cup with which 
the guests pledged each 
other at the end of a meal. 

Gramercy, many thanks. 

Guerdon, reward. 

Guild, a protective organiza- 
tion. 

Guilder, a Dutch coin worth 
about 40 cents. 

Gymmal rings, interlocked or 
double rings. 

Gyves, fetters. 

H 

Hacqueton, a padded jacket 
worn under a coat of mail. 

Halberd, a long battle-axe 
with a spear on the end of 
the pole. 

Halfling, halfpenny. 

Halidome, anything sacred. 

Harlequin, a boisterous 
merry-maker in a panto- 
mime; a clown. 

Hatchment, the coat-of-arms 
of a dead person. 

Hauberk, a coat of mail 
made of steel rings, and 
reaching below the knees. 

Hership, pillage. 

Hide, a measure of land 
(from 60 to 100 acres). 

Hilding, worthless, mean- 
spirited. 

Hinds, farm-laborers. 

Horse-litter, a litter, or 
couch, borne between two 
horses. 


573 

Houghed, hamstrung, dis- 
abled. 

Houris, the beautiful damsels 
who inhabit Paradise, ac- 
cording to the Mohamme- 
dan teaching. 

Housings, equipment or or- 
naments for a horse. 

Howlet, owlet, little owl. 

Hur’s, he was ; his. 

Hutch, a small closet, or stor- 
ing-place. 

I 

Incognito, in disguise. 

Ingot, a mass or bar of gold 
or silver. 

Inter res sacras, “ among sa- 
cred things.” 

Invenientur vigilantes, “ let 

them be found watching.” 

J 

Jennet, a small horse bred in 
Spain. 

Jerkin, a short jacket. 

Joust, a sham-battle of 
knights; a tournament. 

K 

Keep, a stronghold. 

Kirtle, a skirt or gown. 

Knight-errant, a knight wan- 
dering about in search of 
adventures. 

L 

Lac acidum, “ sour milk.” 

Lac dulce, “ sweet milk.” 


574 


Glossary 


Lai, lay, a short metrical tale. 

Laissez aller, “ let go ! ” 
“ start!” 

Largesse, a cry, asking for 
donations. 

La Royne de la Beaulte et 
des Amours, “ the Queen 
of Beauty and of Love.” 

Latro famosus, “a notorious 
robber.” 

Le don d’amoureux merci, 

“ the highest favor of love.” 

Leech, a physician; (as verb) 
to heal. 

Lee-gage, the sheltered side, 
leeward. 

Leman, mistress, sweetheart. 

Levin-fire, lightning. 

Liard, a trifling French coin. 

Liegeman, a faithful subject. 

M 

Mace, a heavy war-club, or 
symbol of authority. 

Machinator, plotter. 

Major-domo, an officer in 
charge of the household; 
steward. 

Malison, curse. 

Malvoisie, a kind of wine. 

Mammocks, fragments. 

Manciple, the steward in 
charge of the food. 

Mancus, a coin worth about 
6oc. 

Mangonel, an engine for 
throwing large stones. 

Mansworn, perjured. 

Manus imponere in servos 
Domini, “ to lay hands 


upon the servants of the 
Lord.” 

Maravedi, a coin worth less 
than a cent. 

Mark, a coin worth about 
$ 3 - 37 - 

Maroquin, morocco leather. 

Marry, indeed ; do tell ! 

Matin, matins, morning serv- 
ice. 

Maugre, in spite of. 

Mead, an intoxicating drink 
made chiefly from honey. 

Meed, reward. 

Melee, a hand-to-hand fight, 
or pitched battle. 

Mell, meddle, mingle. 

Mercenaries, professional 
soldiers who fought for 
hire. 

Merk, same as mark. 

Minever, a kind of fur. 

Minion, a favorite. 

Missal, mass-book, contain- 
ing the services used in the 
Roman Church. 

Miter, the ceremonial head- 
dress of bishops. 

Moiety, half. 

Morrion, a kind of helmet. 

Morris-dancer, a fantastic 
masked dancer. 

Mort, the bugle call at the 
death of a deer. 

Mort de ma vie! “death of 
my life!” 

Motley, a many-colored gar- 
ment, a fool’s dress. 

Mots, notes on a trumpet. 

Mount joye St. Denis, a 
French war-cry. 


Glossary 


Mummery, ridiculous perfor- 
mance. 

Muscadine, a kind of wine. 

N 

Natheless, nevertheless. 

Nebulo quidam, “ this good- 
for-nothing fellow.” 

Necromancers, magicians. 

Necromancy, black art, 
magic. 

Nidering, infamous, worth- 
less. 

Noble, a gold coin worth 
about $1.66. 

Nombles, fragments. 

O 

Oc, the word for “ yes ” as 
pronounced in southern 
France. 

Occult, secret, hidden. 

Opine, think, believe. 

Oratory, a small chapel for 
private prayer. 

Orison, prayer. 

Oubliette, a well-like dun- 
geon. 

Oui, the word for “yes” as 
pronounced in northern 
France. 

Out-heroding, out-doing, ex- 
ceeding. 

Outlandish, foreign. 

Outrance, a fight to the 
finish with sharp weapons. 

Outrecuidance, “ presump- 
tion,” or “ insolence.” 

Oyez, “ hear ye ! ” 


575 

p 

Palfrey, a saddle-horse. 

Palisade, a fence of sharp 
stakes. 

Palmer, a pilgrim from the 
Holy Land. 

Pannier, basket. 

Panoply, complete equipment 
of armor. 

Par amours, “ in the way of 
guilty love.” 

Parapet, a wall breast-high. 

Parish-butt, a target set up 
in a churchyard. 

Parricide, one who kills his 
father. 

Partisan, a battle-ax and 
spear combined. 

Passengers, travelers, pass- 
ersby. 

Pater, the Lord’s Prayer; so 
called from its first words 
in Latin, “ Pater noster.” 

Paternoster, (same as 
above). 

Pax vobiscum, “ Peace be 
with you.” 

Paynim, pagan; heathen. 

Peccadillo, an insignificant 
fault. 

Pennon, flag. 

Penthouse, a shed attached 
to the wall of another 
building ; a “ lean-to ” ; 
hence, anything resembling 
such a structure, as the 
eye-brows. 

Periapt, a magic charm, sup- 
posed of medicinal power. 

Pharmacopoeia, a book of 
medical recipes. 


57 6 


Glossary 


Phlebotomy, blood-letting. 

Pinfold, “ pound,” in which 
stray cattle were confined. 

Plate, i. e., plate-armor, ar- 
mor made of plates of 
steel. 

Postern, a rear, usually se- 
cret, gate or entrance. 

Postscriptum, “ postscript.” 

Pouncet-box, a box for pow- 
der or perfume. 

Preceptory, a religious house 
of the Knights Templars. 

Pricking, riding. 

Primes, early morning 
prayers. 

Primogeniture, the right of 
the eldest son to inherit all 
of the father’s estate and 
titles. 

Proof, tested armor. 

Propine, to pledge. 

Propter necessitatem et ad 
frigus depellendum, “ in 

case of necessity and for 
avoiding cold.” 

Pseudo, false. 

Pulse, peas, beans, lentils, etc. 

Punctilio, a nice point of ex- 
actness in behavior ; in- 
sistence on good form in 
trifling matters. 

Pursuivant, an attendant on 
a herald. 

Purveyor, one who provides 
food. 

Pyet, a magpie. 

Pyx, the vessel for holding 
the bread for the Holy 
Communion. 


Q 

Quare fremuerunt gentes? 

“ Why do the heathen 
rage ? ” See Psalm ii. 

Quean, a woman of low 
character. 

Quittance, a receipt. 

Quod nullus juxta propriam 
voluntatem incedat, “ that 
no one shall walk accord- 
ing to his own will.” 

Quoth, said. 

R 

Ranger, an officer in charge 
of the royal forests. 

Rascaille, rascal rout, rab- 
ble. 

Real, a Spanish coin worth 
about 5c. 

Recheate, the bugle note that 
recalls the hounds from the 
chase. 

Reck, care, heed. 

Recreant, base, cowardly, un- 
worthy. 

Refection, repast. 

Refectory, an eating-room. 

Reliquary, a small casket, or 
locket, for holding sacred 
relics of a saint, or other 
holy objects. 

Rescousse, “ rescue.” 

Rex delectabitur pulchritu- 
dine tua, “ the king shall 
delight in thy beauty.” 

Rheno, Rhine wine. 

Romaunt, romance. 

Rood, cross. 

Rote, a kind of hurdy-gurdy. 


Glossary 577 


Runagate, vagabond. 

Runlet, a small cask. 

Ruth, pity. 

S 

1 Sack, a kind of wine. 

S Sacring-bell, a bell rung as a 
signal for mass. 

Sacristan, sexton. 

Sallyport, a gate through 
which those besieged in a 
castle might make a sudden 
sally, or attack, on the be- 
siegers. 

Salvage man, a man of the 
woods. Salvage is an old 
form of savage. 

Sancta Maria, “ Holy Mary.” 

Sate, obsolete forpi of sat. 

Satellite, a servant, or at- 
tendant. 

Scathe, harm. 

Scion, a descendant. 

Scrip, a small bag, or wallet. 

Seethed, boiled. 

Semper percutiatur leo vo- 
rans, “ the raging lion shall 
ever be smitten down.” 

Sendai, a fine thin cloth. 

Seneschal, a steward. 

Serf, a low-caste servant, re- 
garded as part of the estate 
on which he worked. 

Sewer, a head-waiter or 
steward. 

Shacklebolt, the shackle 'f a 
padlock. 

Shambles, slaugHer-hous 

Shaveling, a priest, so ca A 
in allusion to his sh? en 
head. 


Shekel, a Jewish coin, worth 
from 72c to $10.88, depend- 
ing upon whether it be sil- 
ver or gold. 

Shrive, to give absolution to. 

Sibyl, an ancient prophetess; 
a witch, or old hag. 

Sigil, a magic sign. 

Simarre, a light, loose robe. 

Simnel bread, fine wheat 
bread. 

Si quis, suadente Diabolo, 

“ if any one, led by the 
Devil.” 

Sirvente, a song of the Trou- 
badours, the minstrels of 
Southern France. 

Sith, since. 

Skills not, matters not. 

Slot, track. 

Slot-hound, blood-hound. 

Slow-hound, blood-hound. 
The two words above are 
corrupted forms of sleuth- 
hound. 

Soldan, Sultan. 

Solere chamber, an upper 
open chamber. 

Sooth, truth. 

Sortilege, casting lots. 

Soubriquet, a nickname. 

Soul-scat, a sum of money 
paid to the church to pro- 
cure prayers for a dead 
person. 

Springal, youth. 

Steads, lands, estates. 

Stock-fish, dried fish. 

Stole, a fringed band worn 
by priests. 

Stool-ball, a game resembling 
cricket. 


578 


Glossary 


Stoup, a deep narrow jug. 

Sumpter-mule, a baggage- 
mule. 

Surquedy and outrecuidance, 

“ insolence and presump- 
tion.” 

T 

Tale, number. 

Targe, a shield. 

Te igitur, the mass-book, 
upon which oaths were 
taken ; so called from the 
first words of the service, 
which mean “ thee there- 
fore.” 

Tell, count. 

Thane, an Anglo-Saxon title 
of honor. 

Theow and Esne, “ thrall 
and bondsman.” 

Thrall, slave. 

Thunder-dint, stroke of 

thunder. 

Timbrel, drum. 

Totty, staggering, unsteady. 

Transmew, transform, 
change. 

Trappings, ornaments or 

equipment for a horse. 

Tregetour, “juggler.” 

Trencher, a wooden plate. 

Trivet, a three-legged stool. 

Troth, truth; faith. 

Troubadour, a wandering 
minstrel, originally from 
the south of France. 

Trow, think, believe. 

Trowl, roll, pass. 

Truce to, cease. 

Trump, trumpet. 


Truncheon, a cudgel, or the 
staff of office symbolizing 
authority. 

U 

Unhouseled, without having 
received the Sacrament. 

Unshriven, without having 
confessed. 

Urus, a huge wild ox, now 
extinct. 

Ut fratres non participent 
cum excommunicatis, 

“ that the brethren shall 
have naught to do with the 
excommunicated.” 

Ut fugiantur oscula, “that 
they shall shun kisses.” j 

Ut leo semper feriatur, 
“ that the lion shall always 
be smitten down.” 

Ut omnium mulierum fugi- 
antur oscula, “ that all 
women’s kisses must be 
avoided.” 


Vae victis! “woe to the van- 
quished ! ” 

Vail, to lower. 

Vair, a kind of fur. 

Venerie, hunting. 

Venite, exultemus Domino, 
“ come, let us rejoice in the 
Lord.” 

Vert, “green”; referring to 
a forest. To grant vert 
was to grant the liberty of 
the forest. 

Vesper-bell, the bell an- 


Glossary 


nouncing the hour for ves- 
pers, or evening service. 

Vinum laetificat cor hominis, 
“ wine makes glad the 
heart of man.” 

Virelai, an old French verse- 
form of irregular construc- 
tion. 

Vis inertiae, “ force of iner- 
tia.” 

Visor, the portion of the 
helmet which protects the 
face; also, a mask. 

Vizard, a mask. 

Vulgate, the Latin Bible. 

W 

Waes hael, “here’s to your 
health ! ” 

Warder, a gate-keeper; also, 
a staff of authority. 

Warlock, a wizard. 

Wassail, carousal, health- 
drinking. 

Wastel-cakes, cakes made of 
the finest flour. 

Weasand, the windpipe. 


579 

Weather-gage, the wind- 
ward side ; opposite of lee- 
gage. 

Weed, garment of any kind. 

Ween, suppose; think. 

Whiles, sometimes. 

Whittle, a knife. 

Wicket, a small gate. 

Wight, a person. 

Wimple, a covering for the 
head and neck worn espe- 
cially by nuns. 

Witenagemote, the popular 
assembly, or national coun- 
cil, of the Anglo-Saxons. 

Wot, know. 

Y 

Yeoman, a freeman, small 
land-owner; also, the body- 
guard of a nobleman. 

Yester-even, yesterday even- 
ing. 

Z 

Zecchin, a gold coin worth 
about $2.32. 







English iReahtngs foe Schools 

Wilbur L. Cross, Yale University, General Editor 

Addison : Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 

Edited by Nathaniel E. Griffin, Princeton University. 

Arnold : Sohrab and Rustum, and Other Poems. 

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Browning: Selections. 

Edited by Charles W. Hodell, Goucher College, Baltimore. 

Bunyan: Pilgrim’s Progress, Part I. 

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Burke: On Conciliation. 

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Byron: Prisoner of Chillon and Other Poems. 

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Defoe: Robinson Crusoe. 

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Dickens: Tale of Two Cities. 

Edited by E. H. Kemper McComb, Manual Training High 
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Eliot: Silas Marner. 

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Franklin: Autobiography. 

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Deserted Village and Other Poems. Edited by Morris 
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Huxley: Selections. 

Edited by Charles Alphonso Smith, University of Virginia. 

Irving: Sketch Book. 

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Mass. 

Lincoln: Selections. 

Edited by William D. Armes, University of California. 

Macaulay: Life of Johnson. 

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Macaulay: Lord Clive and Warren Hastings. 

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Samuel Thurber, Jr., Technical High School, Newton, Mass. 


J6nglt0b IReaMngs tor Schools— Continued 

Milton : Lyric and Dramatic Poems. 

Edited by Martin W. Sampson, Cornell University. 

Old Testament Narratives. 

Edited by George H. Nettleton, Yale University. 

Scott: Quentin Durward. 

Edited by Thomas H. Briggs, Eastern Illinois State Normal I 
School, Charleston, 111. 

Scott: Ivanhoe. 

Edited by Alfred A. May, Shattuck School, Faribault, Minn. 

Scott: Lady of the Lake. 

Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock, Public High School, Hart- ; 
ford, Conn. 

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Edited by Felix E. Schelling, University of Pennsylvania. 

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Shakespeare: Julius Caesar. 

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Shakespeare: As You Like It. 

Edited by John W. Cunliffe and George Roy Elliott, 1 
University of Wisconsin. 

Stevenson: Inland Voyage and Travels with a Donkey. 

Edited by Edwin Mims, University of North Carolina. 

Stevenson: Treasure Island. 

Edited by Stuart P. Sherman, University of Illinois. 

Tennyson: Idylls of the King. 

Edited by John Erskine, Columbia University. 

Thackeray: English Humorists. 

Edited by William Lyon Phelps, Yale University. 

Washington: Farewell Address, with Webster: First 
Bunker Hill Oration. Edited by William E. Simonds, Knox 
College, Galesburg, 111. 

Wordsworth: Selections. Also from Coleridge, Shelley, 
and Keats. Edited by James W. Linn, University of 
Chicago. 

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